The Man in the Dark
by P.L. Wynter
Summary: Only when I saw the flash of his knife did I realize it was too late.
1. Chapter 1

The Man in the Dark

Chapter One

_I was never afraid of the dark _

_not until I realized who dwelled in it_

_who wielded the shadows to his bidding_

_and only when I saw the flash of his knife_

_did I realize it was too late._

Dean had been underwater for nearly two minutes. Sam stood on the shoreline frantically searching for any sign of his brother. It shouldn't be taking this long. He desperately wanted to dive in and swim to the bottom of the lake and make sure Dean was simply taking his time. Dean was just being careful and making sure everything was right. He was just trying to piss Sam off. But Dean had told him specifically to stay on the shore. Stay out of the water in case the expulsion rune didn't work. Stay out of the water in case the lake spirit was still around. And he planned on doing that, for the first thirty seconds since Dean had disappeared beneath the surface. When a minute rolled around, Sam had taken off his hoodie. At a minute thirty, Sam had waded into the water knee deep. And now, at two minutes, Sam was just waiting for a sign, hoping he was wrong, hoping he was worrying over nothing. Dean could hold his breath for two and a half minutes if he tried really hard. No need to panic. Sam didn't need to panic. Dean was going slow, being precautious. That's what Dean did, right?

But when the up rush of bubbles hit the surface, Sam wasn't even thinking as he dove beneath the water. His flashlight held out in front of him, he tried to spot his brother as he dove deeper and deeper. He could see the faint glow of Dean's flashlight and he used it as a beacon, hoping Dean was still nearby. Sam found the rune first. Dean had placed it carefully, atop a sunken gravesite. It had taken two weeks of research to figure out what to do about the lake spirit. Their father's journal hadn't said anything about it. So Sam and Dean had gone through every resource they knew, trying to find a way to dispel it. They'd finally found the rune. Carve it into a sandstone rock and place it atop the grave. So here it was, the expulsion rune, the grave, no lake spirit, and no Dean. What the hell? If the rune was placed, he should have come back to the surface, right?

Sam swam around a tree stump, using his flashlight to shine through all the wildlife and debris in the water. He was acutely aware that he was running out of air and would need to return to the surface soon. But God, if he was running out of air, he didn't want to think about how Dean was holding up, if he was holding up at all. Panic began swelling up inside him as he realized it was very possible his brother may have been taken by the lake spirit just as the rune was being placed. No, that couldn't be. He was going to find his brother. He'd go back up for air and Dean would be standing on the shore, peeved at him for disobeying him. And sure, he'd sound a lot like their father, but Sam wouldn't care. Tonight, he wouldn't care if Dean yelled at him, chastised him, hell he wouldn't care if Dean outright punched him. He just wanted Dean to be there.

As he began turning himself to kick towards the surface, Sam's flashlight suddenly illuminated a figure in the water. It took Sam half a second to recognize the form of his brother, floating limply, head sagging, one foot caught in a tangle of rope and seaweed. Sam was horrified. He propelled himself towards his brother, feeling his lungs burning, but he wouldn't leave Dean down here for a second longer than he had to. He had to get him out of the water. As Sam wrapped an arm around Dean's waist, he wanted to cry when his brother didn't react. Just kept on floating. Kept on sagging. Dead to the world. No, not dead. Just unconscious, not breathing. Sam tugged and pulled on the rope and the weeds, remembering awfully quick that he'd never been able to beat his brother's record for holding his breath. He'd never even come close.

Finally, Dean's foot came free. Sam grabbed him beneath the arms and kicked off the bottom of the lake, swimming towards the surface, holding Dean's limp body as close to his own as possible. He was getting dizzy, but he wouldn't let himself fail, not when it wasn't only his life on the line, but also his brother's. Sam broke the surface with an exploding gasp. It took him a moment to regain himself and when he did, he swam backwards towards the shore, concentrating on holding his brother's head above water, even though it was painfully obvious by Dean's pale complexion and blue lips that he wasn't breathing.

Reaching the sandy banks, Sam lugged his brother up and out of the water and then collapsed to his knees beside him. He put a hand on Dean's neck, feeling for a heartbeat. There was none and Sam's stomach dropped. His world seemed to stop. He was too late. Dean was gone. He was dead. He felt physically sick, but pushed his own health and horrible thoughts away, trying to stay calm and take control of the situation. There was still time, he could still bring him back. He tilted Dean's head back and began compressions on his chest. After thirty, he pinched Dean's nose closed and breathing into his brother's mouth, wishing Dean would wake up and shove him off, disgusted that his brother's lips were on his own. He felt for a heartbeat, but still there was none.

"No," Sam cried. He began compressions again. "Dean, come on," Sam begged, watching his brother's slack face, blue and pale and utterly dead. No, not dead. Just unconscious, not breathing, no heartbeat. He continued compressions and breathed for his brother again. Touching his neck, still there was nothing. Sam felt tears well up in his eyes, he couldn't hold back the sob as he began compressions again. "Dean, please," Sam begged to his brother's still form. "Don't do this to me. You're gonna let a piece of seaweed bring you down?" Come on Dean, wake up and laugh at my joke. You'd find it funny, I know you would. So just wake up and I'll joke with you all you want. I won't even complain. I'll let you rag on me all you want. Just please open your eyes goddamn it.

And as Sam breathed for his brother a third time, still unable to find a pulse, and began compressions again, he couldn't stop the sobs that escaped him. Sobs that came when his mind started to convince itself that Dean would not be waking up. He would not open his eyes and tell Sam to piss off. He would not pull Sam into a hug and tell him everything would be all right. And Sam didn't bother to hide the tears.

* * *

There was a white river and he was standing on the edge of it. He didn't remember how he came to be here. It was quiet near the river. It wasn't water. Water never looked this beautiful. It was like pearls. Endless, shapeless pearls sparkling and swirling together, moving in a current, laughing and dancing and singing, but doing it all silently. And he could only watch and wonder how he got here. He felt as though something were missing. His hand was empty. He felt alone.

_I don't want to be alone,_ he heard himself say. He hadn't opened his mouth. It had been his voice, caught on a wind that wasn't blowing. He stepped forward, his toes dipping into the white river. It wanted him. He could feel it. Small hands grabbed at his skin and he began sinking. Being removed. Being erased. Being forgotten. _I don't want to be forgotten._

And then his skin was on fire. Wherever the white river was touching him, he was burning. It should have been painful, but he didn't know pain anymore. He was disappearing. He knew this was wrong. The white river started to transform around him. The glossy pearls turned to black stones. Jagged structures jutted out from beneath the white. They soiled the river. Tainted it. Burned it. And he could feel it was wrong. But he was still sinking and he couldn't stop it. He was being consumed.

"Stop." A voice. Noise. It broke through the silent, senseless world and he remembered sound. He felt a hand grip his own and he remembered touch. His hand was no longer empty. He remembered movement and turned his head. He saw her face and remembered sight. But he could not remember her. He couldn't, because he had never known her. But she didn't feel wrong. "Come." She commanded and he listened.

Then they were running. And it was no longer familiar. The white river was gone. But in its place stood a black mountain and the mountain moved. The mountain ran after them, chasing. He feared the mountain. He didn't know why, but he did. But the hand in his own kept pulling, kept tugging, kept assuring. And then they were falling. It didn't hurt when they landed. She sat him down and closed a door. They were inside a white box. Beneath the door, the black mountain peeked in, but could not see.

_Where are we? _He asked without a voice. _I don't remember this place._ And he didn't. He couldn't, because he had never known it. _Am I lost?_

"I found you," she told him, cupping his face in her hands. "You're going to leave me soon."

_I don't want to. I want to stay. _

"You'll find me again soon."

_I don't want to be alone._ And she wiped away a tear he didn't know he had cried. He couldn't recognize sadness.

"You won't be," she smiled and he heard another voice, in the distance, but couldn't make out the words. It sounded familiar. He knew he could remember it. He could, because he had always known it. "Hero," she gave him a name. He knew it wasn't his, but he accepted it anyway. "I need you to save me. I'm in the blue house. We have white shutters. I need you."

_How will I remember? I don't remember you and I'm looking right at you._ And even as he stared at her, she was fading. Her voice softening, the other growing. He was starting to remember what was real and forget what was not. _How can I save you? _

"You save everyone. You'll remember. You have to leave. He knows you're here. He'll be waiting for you in the cellar." He didn't think he understood. And as soon as the words were said, he forgot them. He didn't think he could remember. She turned and he saw the black mountain beneath the door. It eyed him and he knew he hated it. "You have to leave," she repeated. "Breathe."

_Breathe?_ And his voice mingled with hers and changed into another. And the white room faded and the black mountain slipped away with a screech. And he forgot about the white and the black and her. And he remembered the water, the cold, the life. He remembered the world. He remembered the pain.

"Breathe!" the new voice yelled. And he remembered love.

That was all he needed to forget the forgotten.

* * *

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam screamed after the fifth round of compressions. He grabbed hold of the front of Dean's shirt and lifted him up, begging to whatever god was listening to just let his brother live. To just start his heart one more time. To let him stay here, because Sam couldn't do this by himself and if Dean left, he'd have no one. "Breathe!" Sam screamed, shaking his brother's still form, running out of other options.

Then, because Dean could never deny his Sammy anything, he coughed up a lungful of water. Sam shuttered with hope and fear and watched as Dean coughed, water leaking from his mouth. Sam gave another sob, this one of utter and pure joy and rolled his brother onto his side, rubbing small circles on his back, watching as Dean coughed out all the water he had breathed into his lungs and sucked in the precious air that had been withheld from him. He choked and gagged and coughed, but it was the most beautiful sound Sam had ever heard. Dean's eyes fluttered open and focused slowly. Sam was still leaning over him, watching him. Had he been gone too long? He hadn't been breathing for nearly six minutes. Was that too long for his brother to be okay?

Dean's eyes flickered around before he turned his head slightly and they fell on Sam. Sam just watched him, hoping to see recognition there. Hoping beyond hope that Dean would know who he was, would be able to think and speak and move like he used to. Dean coughed once more and Sam saw the most gorgeous sight he had ever laid eyes on as Dean's lips curled into a smile.

"Oh God," Dean groaned, his voice hoarse and weak. "We didn't kiss or anything, did we?" Sam was crying again, but this time they were tears of a different kind. He ignored his brother's resistance to touchy feely moments and tugged him into a sitting position before wrapping his arms around him and squeezing tightly. When he pulled away, Dean was looking at him tiredly, bemused. "That bad, huh?" he asked, eyes half closed.

Sam let out a chuckle and ran a hand over his face, wiping away the remaining lake water and tears that had been staining his cheeks. "God, Dean, I thought you were dead," he admitted, watching as Dean tiredly took in his surroundings.

"Nah," Dean choked out, coughing. "Can't be rid of me that easily." He looked at the water and his eyes narrowed. "Did we get rid of it at least?" he asked, obviously not knowing what else to say. He looked away from Sam as he started to shiver. Sam left his side for just two seconds, one of his hands never really leaving Dean's leg. He grabbed his hoodie and brought it back, wrapping it around Dean's shoulders.

"Yeah," Sam answered, squatting in front of his brother and just looking at him. His color was returning. But he couldn't get the image of his brother's blue lips and white face out of his mind. His relief was slowly turning into exhaustion and he could see the feeling reflected in Dean. Sam couldn't resist anymore. He reached out and ran a hand over his brother's head. Dean just looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

"I know we kissed and everything, but do we have to cuddle too?" Dean tried to joke and Sam just frowned, biting his lip to keep from crying again. It had been too close this time. Way too close. When Sam didn't say anything, Dean sighed heavily and let his shoulders drop. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy," he whispered.

Sam scoffed and stood up, exhaustion turning into anger. He turned away and faced the water, arms crossed over his chest. "You weren't breathing, Dean," he said, turning to looked at his brother and making sure Dean heard him and understood. "You didn't have a heartbeat. I thought…" Sam's voice broke and he had to close his eyes for a moment and collect himself. "I thought this was it."

There was a grunt and Sam opened his eyes to see Dean trying to stand up. It looked as though his limbs were made of rubber, and it probably felt that way too. Sam went to his side immediately, placing a hand on his arm and holding him steady. Dean took a deep breath which ended in a watery cough. But he cleared his throat and looked at Sam pointedly. "Yeah, well it wasn't," Dean said, reaching up and putting a hand on Sam's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

Sam just glared back at him. "That's the best you can do to comfort me? 'Yeah, well it wasn't?'" Sam mocked. Dean just shrugged.

"Hey," he said and pointed at himself. "Drowning victim here. Give me a few minutes to come up with something poetic." Dean grinned, though it looked like it took a lot of strength out of him to do so.

Sam gave him a smile back and then shook his head. "I know," he whispered. "It's just, I'm tired of you almost dying."

Dean chuckled at that and Sam couldn't help but smile. "Yeah I know," he said with a shake of his head. "But, if you look at it from the other side, it's better than almost living," he said with a shrug. Sam shook his head and looked away, feeling the last of his fear slowly starting to seep away.

"Let's just get out of here," Sam said.

"Please," Dean answered, letting Sam help him up the hill to where they had parked the car. He was tired, exhausted actually and his lungs were sore and heavy and his ribs were bruised. But it was better than not being able to feel anything at all, he supposed. "I'm gonna smell like fish for a week." Sam chuckled and left Dean's side once they got to the car and he made sure Dean could make it the rest of the way. "I guess it's all in a day's work," he said, opening the car door.

Sam smiled at him from the other side before climbing in. "It's what you get for playing the hero all the time," Sam muttered. Dean paused, the words striking him in a way they normally wouldn't have. He stood, half in the car, half out and tried to figure out why the words were lashing out at him so. Sam, who had started the car, leaned over to eye him. "Dean?" he asked, worried again.

But Dean just shook his head and sat down, pulling the door shut behind him. He tried to wrack his brain, find the memory that was eluding him. He felt like he was forgetting something, but he didn't know what there was to forget. He tried to remember, but nothing would come. And then, as if his brain was reaching out and taunting him, he caught a glimpse of a memory he shouldn't have. A voice, a girl. She was touching him. She'd given him a name. "Hero," Dean whispered.

Sam looked over at his brother, wondering if maybe he'd been too quick to assume his brother was all right. "What?" he asked after hearing him whispered something.

Dean looked over at him, confusion in his eyes, but he quickly shook his head and gave a small chuckle. The memory was gone, whatever it had been. He sighed and leaned back in his seat. "God I need a drink."


	2. Chapter 2

center Chapter Two /center 

It was two weeks after Dean's near drowning experience and Sam heard his brother mutter the words, "I need you to save me," in his sleep when he knew something was wrong. It started with Sam observing some oddities in his brother's actions. A paused, worried look here or a moment of blank confusion in the middle of a conversation there. His brother would sometimes forget to pay attention. Sam had worried that they were lingering ramifications of the time he spent under the water, not breathing. But as the days went by, new oddities would surface. Whenever Dean drove, he was constantly looking in the rearview mirror. Whenever they walked somewhere, he would glance behind him as if he expected something to be following them. But he never seemed worried. It was like a habit that had manifested itself spontaneously. At night, when Sam lay awake, unable to sleep, Dean would get up and drag himself to the bathroom and turn on the light, shutting the door so only a sliver of it escaped. Then he'd trudge back to bed. The first night Dean had done it, Sam had just watched, wondering what the hell his brother was doing. After a few nights of the same thing, when Dean had joked about Sammy needing a nightlight, Sam realized that Dean must not have even been aware he was the one doing it. This had sparked new worry in Sam's mind.

Days ago, they'd been at a gas station and Dean had gone inside to pay. He hadn't come out and after five minutes, Sam had gone into the store, knife tucked beneath his shirt in case the gas station was being robbed. But it wasn't. He'd found Dean in the gifts section, fingering a strand of fake pearls, his eyes distant. But Sam's presence had startled him out of it and he'd give Sam some half ass lie about how they reminded him of a girl. Sam hadn't pushed the subject.

Now, Sam lay awake in his bed, the light creeping out from the cracked open bathroom door lighting the opposite bed. He was watching Dean. His brother lay on his back, one hand on his chest, the other stretched out beside him. His face was calm, but he was muttering. Most of it, Sam couldn't make out. But the pat that he could made Sam think that maybe ignoring that off feeling he'd been having the past two weeks had been a bad idea. "I need you to save me." The words were quiet, muttered in a style that didn't sound like Dean's.

There was something wrong with his brother. He should have known the moment Dean had coughed up a lungful of lake water. He'd felt it then. But he hadn't thought anything of it. Sam could feel his brother in ways he couldn't explain. When he looked at Dean, thought of Dean, was just in the same room as Dean, he felt him. He hadn't known he'd had that ability until two weeks ago when he realized that his brother felt different. The only way Sam could explain the new feel of his brother was thinking that Dean had too much shadow. He seemed….dark. No, dark was too strong of a term. He seemed…less bright than usual. There was a flicker to his flare. And Sam was worried. He was worried that Dean was hiding something, pain maybe. He was worried that his brother's spirits had been dampened, that his heart wasn't in it anymore. But most of all he was worried that perhaps his brother wasn't alone inside his head. A part of Sam thought that may be the answer, but another part of him thought, no, he'd know it if that were the case, Sam would be able to feel something new inside his brother. And there was nothing new. The old stuff was just dulled, dim. But it was still Dean.

They'd been going about business as usual. There'd been a ghost in Kentucky. After that, they'd gone to Billings for a demon. Now, they were on their way to Wisconsin to check out some mysterious murders. Seven teenagers. Best friends. Good kids. But Sam worried that Dean's oddities were getting out of hand. He worried that his brother would get distracted during a hunt, at a crucial moment. A crucial moment that could mean the difference between life and death. But whenever he tried to hint to Dean that something was wrong, his brother wouldn't get it. In fact, he'd turned it back at Sam a couple of times, thinking it was Sam who had something funny going on. And that made Sam worry even more. His brother didn't know that he was acting strange. And Sam probably wouldn't have been able to notice either if he hadn't been watching him so closely.

Dean was muttering again, his whole body still except for his lips. The words weren't Dean's, Sam was sure of it. After a few minutes of it, when it was obvious Dean wasn't going to stop, Sam had had enough. He reached and flicked on the bedside lamp. Shoving the blankets off himself, he swung his legs off the bed and sat up, staring at Dean. What was he going to say? 'Dean, you were muttering in your sleep?' or 'Dean I think you're losing your mind?' or how about 'Dean, you're flickering and it's scaring the hell out of me?' Yeah, his brother would respond well to that. Dean loved it when Sam talked loony.

Deciding that whatever it was that was happening, he couldn't let it go on any longer, Sam stood and crept over to his brother's bed. He stood over him, watching Dean's lips move, the soft mutterings now too quiet for Sam to make out. As Sam reached a hand out to touch his brother's arm, Dean's lips stopped moving abruptly. He paused, expecting Dean to open his eyes and ask him why the hell he was standing over his bed. But his brother merely turned his head and gave a soft sigh, which sounded more like Dean than the mutterings had, and lay still again. Sam took a breath, bit his lip and reached forward, placing his hand on Dean's shoulder.

With a frown, Dean's eyes opened, blurry and sleepy. They immediately moved to Sam and Dean rolled his head back to face him. He sat up a little on his elbows. "Sammy?" he asked tiredly. "What's wrong?"

Sam hesitated for a moment, tempted to say nothing and go back to bed. But Dean was looking at him with those eyes that Sam could never deny. They were the older brother eyes. The eyes Dean pulled when he was worried about Sam or when Sam said something that reminded Dean his little brother wasn't a kid anymore. So Sam bit back the hesitation he had and whispered, "Are you okay?" Lame, but he didn't know what else to ask.

"What?" Dean asked, pushing himself further up. Sam stood up, giving his brother room to sit up straight and rub at his eyes. When he was fully awake, he looked back at Sam. "Yeah I'm good," Dean said, eyeing him suddenly. "What's wrong? Nightmare?"

Sam sighed. This was going to be harder than he thought. He took a step backwards and sat down on the edge of his bed, mouth twitching to the side as Dean watched him, looking as worried as ever. "No," he gave quietly. "Dean…" Sam trailed off, unsure of how he wanted to say it. He couldn't think of a way to word it that wouldn't make Dean angry or upset. Hell, look at how he had reacted when he told him that he'd been dreaming of Jess's death days before it happened.

"Dude, come on, spit it out already," Dean pried. "You can't wake a guy up at two in the morning and then sit there looking like someone just told you Lucky the Leprechaun's not real." Dean ran a hand over his face, obviously frustrated that he'd been woken up for no apparent reason.

"He's not?" Sam joked lamely, though his smile didn't reach his eyes. Dean looked over at him with a glare and Sam held up his hands. "Okay," he said and let his shoulders slump. Here goes nothing. "It's just, I'm worried about you." There, he said it. Now Dean needs to get angry, tell him that he's fine and he'd acknowledge the odd tics and tell him not to worry about them, that he's just still feeling scared about the drowning and then Sam would comfort him and they'd joke and Sam would resist hugging his brother and they'd go back to bed. Easy as that. But Sam should have known that Dean never made things easy.

"What?" Dean asked instead. "Why? You have another dream about me?" Dean's face suddenly turned sour. "You know, now that you've got the shining, when I ask if you have nightmares, you should probably answer me truthfully…"

"I didn't have a nightmare," Sam broke in and Dean paused, mouth half open.

Pushing the blankets off of himself, Dean scooted over to mirror Sam, sitting on the edge of the bed. He bent over, resting his elbows on his knees and looked at his brother. "Then what?" he demanded. "You're freaking me out a little, Sammy," Dean admitted softly.

A deep breath. "I think something happened to you in that lake," Sam said, watching Dean's face for any indications that he knew what Sam was talking about. He couldn't find any.

"Yeah," Dean scoffed. "I drowned."

"That's not what I meant," he said, irritated. He took a breath to calm himself. "Look, ever since I pulled you out, you've been acting weird." Dean gave him a look but Sam immediately went on, wanting to get it out before Dean could say anything. "Looking over your shoulder like you think someone's following you, spacing out at random times, muttering in you're sleep, getting up in the middle of the night to turn on the bathroom light." Dean's frown was growing more and more defined and at the last part his eyes opened wide, obviously shocked to hear that. "And you know, I wouldn't normally think it was weird because drowning can be pretty traumatic, but I…I don't think you know that you're doing it."

The room seemed utterly silent when Sam finished. They stared at each other for a minute before it was Dean who looked away. He looked confused, lost, cornered almost. Then he shook his head. "I don't get up to turn on…"

"Yeah you do," Sam whispered, cutting him off. "I've watched you do it for the past four nights." Sam watched his brother's eyes dart towards the bathroom, glaring at it. "I don't know what's going on," Sam said gently.

Dean's eyes slowly drifted back to Sam's face. They were sparkling with confusion and worry and maybe even fear. He licked his lips and gave a lopsided smile. "And your spidey-sense isn't tingling?" It was a joke, but Sam could see that beneath it Dean was asking a serious question.

Sam smiled at that and shook his head. "No," he said. "I know you're still you. And I don't feel anything that's not supposed to be there. You just…you don't feel right." Dean's eyebrows raised at that and he smiled. Sam couldn't help but return it. God, once he said it out loud it did sound kind of silly. But it was the truth. Or the closest thing to the truth that Sam could put into words. He couldn't explain the way his mind worked. I just worked.

Dean was tonguing the side of his cheek, eyes going back to the bathroom. He looked pensive and Sam figured he was trying to take this all in. He couldn't imagine what he'd think if someone told him he'd been doing things he couldn't remember doing. He was surprised Dean wasn't up throwing things around the room or throttling Sam for being a liar. Dean finally let out a gruff laugh and put his face in his hands, looking frustrated. "Sammy, I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to say to all of this," Dean said at last. He looked up and Sam opened his mouth to talk, but Dean went on. "You sit there and you tell me that I'm doing things I don't remember doing?" Dean stood up then, too flustered to sit down anymore. "Well, is it sleepwalking?"

"I don't think so," Sam said. "You do most of it when you're awake."

"What the hell?" Dean said, rubbing his head.

"Dean…" Sam tried.

"Don't 'Dean' me!" he yelled back, surprising Sam. "I'm walking around doing things that I don't even notice? Sammy, please, just tell me you're messing with me. If this is about all those Love-Hewitt jokes I've been making, I'll stop."

"I'm not making it up," Sam said somberly. "And they aren't really things that anyone would notice if they didn't know you. I probably wouldn't have even noticed if I wasn't watching you 24/7 after you almost died."

"Just little shit," Dean said. "That's all I'm doing right?" Dean asked, not giving Sam time to answer. "I mean, I'm not doing anything bad. I'm not punching you while you sleep or anything, am I?"

"No," Sam was quick to assure him. He got up too and went to stop his brother's nervous pacing. "Dean, it's nothing like that. It's almost like…" Sam trailed off.

"Like what?" Dean demanded.

"Like you're scared," Sam said after a bit.

Dean let out a harsh laugh. "Of what?" he asked incredulously. Sam didn't know what to say. "Of what, Sam?" he asked again, his voice louder. "I don't remember doing these things. I don't feel any different. I mean, you think if I was possessed I'd knot it, right? And what kind of a ghost possesses you just to make you turn on a light? That's all I need, to be possessed by a ghost with OCD."

"I don't think it's a possession, Dean," Sam said. "I don't know what it is, but I don't think there's anything else inside of you except for you."

Dean scoffed, but a halfhearted grin came to his face as he looked away. "Well that's comforting," he muttered. He let out a long sigh and dropped his shoulders. With his head tilted downwards, he moved his eyes to look back up at Sam. "So what do we do?"

Sam wished he had something to suggest. "I don't know," he answered quietly. "Try to figure out what it is, I guess. And go from there." Dean nodded in agreement. "What do you remember from that night at the lake?"

Sitting back down on the bed, Dean knit his hands together and leaned forward. "Well, I told your stupid ass to stay on the shore, which by the way, don't think I forgot that you didn't listen to me."

"Gee, Sam, thanks for saving my life," Sam chided, sitting down across from his brother. Dean just snorted.

"Yeah, whatever," Dean brushed it off, though there was a look of gratitude in his eyes that Sam accepted as a thank you. "But I swam down to the gravesite, placed the rune, then went to come back up but I got caught on something." Dean was quiet for a second but Sam didn't push. He tried not to think of how scared his brother must have been. Especially if he thought Sam would listen to him and stay on the shore. "And when I tried to get loose, it just made it worse." Another pause. "And then I just…everything just stopped." Dean looked up then.

"That's it?" Sam asked. "Nothing happened after that?"

"Oh, you want a more exciting story?" Dean asked, his voice light. Sam tried to talk, but Dean went on. "Well then I was saved by a mermaid," Dean grinned. Sam rolled his eyes and stood up, pulling his laptop out of his duffel. "Not too much to look at, but I did get a kiss."

"You're such an idiot," Sam muttered, sitting down at the table. "I should have just left you down there." But he looked up playfully to show Dean that he didn't mean it. Dean didn't seem too bothered.

"Aw, come on, Sammy," Dean joked back, standing up when he realized he wouldn't be going back to bed any time soon. He slipped on a pair of jeans. "You know you're my hero." Sam snorted and shook his head. Dean sat down on the bed and made a kissing motion with his mouth. Sam rolled his eyes and got online. His brother was quiet for a moment before he said softly, "You know, Sam, we still have to check out those murders."

Sam looked up at that. "What?" he asked, surprised. "You don't think this is more important?"

Dean shrugged. "People are dying," he said. "I'm just getting up at night and turning on lights," he chuckled but then his smile faded a little. "I mean, we can be looking and everything because I rather like having complete control over my own body. But until it really becomes a problem, I don't really think it's our number one priority. Maybe number two, but definitely not number one."

Sam watched his brother for a moment. "You don't want to try and stop it before it becomes a problem?"

"Look, Sam," Dean said. "It freaks me out, yeah, and I know you're the one with the magic head and everything, but, it doesn't feel wrong to me." Sam frowned at that. "I don't know, I can usually tell when things are a threat."

Sam thought about it. He didn't want to tell Dean, because he didn't want to give them both a sense of safety if they were wrong, but he agreed with him. It didn't feel wrong. Nothing about it felt wrong, only that it wasn't right. But not being right and being wrong were two different things. "Okay," he said simply. Dean nodded with a smile and a breath. He looked relieved. "So, those murders," Sam said and pulled up a newspaper article about the recent murders. He fully expected them to switch gears altogether. He didn't expect Dean to go on.

"We see a lot of crazy shit with this job, huh?" Sam looked up. "And you said it was like I was scared." Dean wasn't looking at him. "You think…" he paused to lick his lips. "You think maybe I've seen one crazy shit too many?"

Sam looked surprised at that. "Are you asking if I think you're going crazy?"

"Well," Dean bobbed his head side to side and then shrugged. "Yeah."

Knowing he was treading on sensitive ground, he gave a smile. "You can't go crazy if you already are." Dean snorted, but the grin that crossed his face reassured Sam that his brother was okay, or as okay with this whole thing as he could be. "We'll figure out what it is."

"And if we don't?" Dean looked so open then. He looked confused and a bit scared. But he also looked calm. He looked worried but at the same time assured. Sam was reminded of a conversation they'd had not too long ago. i You're not going to let me die in peace, are you? /i Dean had been open then too. Not as open as now, but open enough so that Sam could see all of his thoughts, feel all of his emotions. He'd been raw. And he was raw now too.

"Then I'll learn to sleep with the lights on."


	3. Chapter 3

center Chapter Three /center 

As Sam aimed the gun at his brother's chest and pulled the trigger, watched the bullet enter Dean's body, shatter his heart, and explode out the other side, he knew he was dreaming. These are how his dreams went. It had been a while since he'd had one like this. After Roosevelt Asylum, they used to be a nightly ritual. But they had been dreams. Nightmares of what had already happened. This dream, though, was different. It was different in a way that Sam could hear the gunshot, could feel the backlash, could smell and taste the gunpowder. It was different in the way that when Dean's body hit the ground, his eyes staring lifelessly up at Sam in a sort of shocked, horrified, deadly manner, Sam could feel the emotions instead of standing by idly and watching. It was different in the way that Sam knew this wasn't an ordinary dream. This was a vision. And he was going to shoot his brother.

The scary thing was, once Dean's body hit the ground, dead, the vision wasn't over. Sam didn't jerk awake or suddenly come back to awareness like he normally did. He just stood there, staring at his brother. His dead, lifeless brother. The one he had killed. The one he had shot point blank in the chest, maliciously, violently, purposefully, without hesitation. And what scared Sam more than that, more than anything, was that, though he was sad his brother was gone, he could tell that those emotions didn't belong with the vision. They were his emotions crossing over into the vision. Because the Sam that held the gun, the Sam that felt so foreign to him, wasn't crying. He wasn't weeping and running to Dean and begging for him to wake up. He wasn't scooping the lifeless body into his arms and screaming for help, for God, for John. He wasn't doing anything but standing there, looking like it was a shame he had to kill Dean. It was a shame Dean was dead, but it wasn't the heartbreaking, gut paralyzing fear and horror that the real Sam was feeling. And Sam hated this vision.

Then Dean faded away and Sam was alone in the darkness. It was laughing at him. Laughing with a cruel, deep, throaty laugh. A laugh that made one Sam cringe and the other smile. And there was horror and there was pain and Sam wept and cried and laughed and smiled. And he as torn in two. Two Sams and one dead Dean.

center /center 

Sam jolted awake, his head hitting the glass of the passenger side window. He blinked away the lingering darkness of the vision and then reached a hand up to rub at his temples. God, that had been awful. His heart was still pounding, but the accompanying headache was fading as he rubbed at his head. He wished he could push away the images. He could still see Dean's blood spreading out around his lifeless body. He'd looked so afraid. And those eyes, dear god those eyes.

"You alright there?" Dean's voice broke through the haze and the images faded altogether. Sam put his hand down and turned to face his brother, who was watching the road, but throwing glances in his direction. Great, Dean was going to love this one.

"Yeah," Sam said quietly, sitting up and clearing his throat. "Just a dream," he whispered, taking one last deep breath to calm himself. He wished it was just a dream.

Dean gave him a look that said he didn't really believe him. Sam just ignored him and leaned into the backseat, plucking his laptop up, intent on busying himself with research about the murders. He had a feeling that they needed to be as prepared as possible for this one, because there was no way he was going to let that vision come true. No fucking way.

"A dream, huh?" Dean asked, his eyes moving to the rearview mirror, where they stayed for longer than they should have. Sam winced. And then there was that whole thing. He knew it was connected somehow. Though he still felt that whatever was making Dean do these things wasn't something they should fear, he still couldn't help but shake the thought that maybe they were connected to his vision somehow. Maybe they'd been too quick to push aside the thought that Dean was in danger. "Dream as in Paris Hilton and a hot tub or dream as in screaming chicks and fires?"

Sam sighed and resisted the urge to tell his brother that he could be an insensitive bastard sometimes. He knew Dean wasn't trying to be insensitive. Heck, he didn't even really know if it was insensitivity. It just still hurt to hear it said like that. That screaming chick had been Jess, or their Mom. But Dean knew that. That's probably why he said stuff like that. Would it have sounded any better if he'd said, 'your dead girlfriend and fires?' or 'our dead mother and fires?' Sam supposed that what he thought was slight insensitivity was actually Dean's way of making things seem not so real, no so horrible. His brother had seen enough horrible things in his life. There had to come a point where he either had to joke about it or cry. Sam wasn't to that point yet. He was getting there, especially now that he was back in the hunt with his brother, but he still had a ways to go.

"Actually it was a dream about you," Sam gave honestly, choosing to ignore the remark. Dean's eyebrows rose at that and a slow grin spread across his face.

"I don't know whether I'd prefer the hot tub or the fires with that one," Dean joked. Sam couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. He didn't answer his brother, though, instead he opened up his laptop and hacked into the wireless internet, hoping Dean would just move on. But really, he didn't expect that to happen. He knew his brother better than that. "So, what'd you see?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "It's nothing," he said, trying to sound like he really meant it. After a few seconds when Dean didn't say anything, he glanced over at him and saw he was giving Sam the look. The "stop bullshitting me" look. Sam sighed. "It's nothing because it's not going to happen."

"Sam…" Dean warned. They'd had this conversation before and Sam knew his brother wasn't going to put up with it much longer. There were few times when Dean got irritated enough to bypass all humor and wit and go straight for the jugular. This was one of those times. When it came to visions, no skirting the issue.

With another sigh, Sam ran a hand over his face. Finally, he just blurted out, "I shot you."

The car was quiet for a moment. Sam glanced at his brother, but Dean was just staring at the road, a pensive look on his face. He could practically see the gears turning in Dean's head, processing the information. After a while, Dean chewed the side of his cheek and asked, "And I'm assuming this time your boyfriend Ellicott wasn't involved."

"No," Sam said with a reluctant shake of the head. "This was different." He saw Dean's brow furrow and was quick to add, "But I'm not going to let it happen. There's no way I'd shoot you, under any circumstances."

Dean chuckled and Sam frowned, wanting to know what was so funny. "Would you have said that six months ago?" Dean asked cockily. Sam bit his lip. Yes, he would have. But six months ago, they hadn't even heard of Roosevelt Asylum. And he'd shot his brother then. Granted it was with rock salt, but he'd still shot him. And Dean had still handed him a gun and if it hadn't been empty, he would have killed his brother. Killed him. It was still one of Sam's worse memories. Yeah, Ellicott was messing with his head, but it wasn't Ellicott's finger that had pulled the trigger. It wasn't Ellicott's voice that had told Dean he was pathetic and a good little soldier. It wasn't Ellicott's decisions to pull the trigger on that empty gun four different times, hoping there'd be at least one bullet. Just one. That's all he would have needed.

"Dean…"

"Did you see anything else?" Dean cut him off before Sam could say anything. He watched the side of Dean's face for a second, saw him glance in the rearview mirror again, linger there, then look back at the road. What was happening to them?

"No," he said at last. "It was dark." He didn't tell him about the emotions he'd felt, about the guiltless shame there had been. He didn't think Dean would understand that. He didn't even understand that. He was about to go on, tell him about where he shot him and how the darkness took over after that, but Dean suddenly frowned and smacked his lips, licking his teeth and the inside of his mouth. Dean looked confused. "What's wrong?" Sam asked, worried now.

Dean glanced at him and then back at the road. He looked hesitant to say anything. But he continued smacking his lips and said, "My mouth tastes funny." Sam watched him closely for a minute, quickly looking him over for any sign that something was wrong. He didn't see anything.

"What?" he finally got out, watching Dean's face. He didn't look too disturbed, so it couldn't be anything too horrible.

Sam didn't expect the answer he got. "It's kinda like…" Dean paused for a minute, his nose turning up. "Grape bubblegum."

"Grape bubblegum?" Sam repeated, surprised.

"Yeah," Dean answered with a disgusted look.

Sam stared at him. Just stared. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he realized he didn't know what to say. His lips were twitching, cheeks begging to break into a grin. He bit his tongue for a minute, not a time to laugh. But the serious look on his brother's face was just too much. Okay, perfect time to laugh. Sam had to turn away as he started to chuckle. It got so bad that he had to put a hand to his face to keep from busting out laughing. He knew half of the humor was due to the lack of humorous situations lately, but also, he was just way too relieved to hear his brother say that. He'd expected blood or sulfur or ozone. But bubblegum? The thought nearly pushed him over the edge and he bit his lip though his shoulders were shaking with laughter.

Dean shot a glare at Sam. "You laugh at my peril?" he asked incredulously, though Sam could hear in his brother's voice that he was only half heartedly scolding him. Sam knew the other half wanted to laugh just as much as he did.

"Dean," Sam said, turning to look at him only to have to look away again as he started cracking up. He took a deep breath and calmed himself before looking back. "Your peril is your mouth tastes like grape gum."

"Exactly," Dean said, exasperated. "I've never like grape." And he'd said it with such seriousness that Sam couldn't control it anymore. He laughed. Outright laughed. After the vision he'd just had, one of the most horrible he'd ever had, this seemed like the most hilarious thing in the world. They were at such opposite ends of the spectrum that Sam was almost happy to have had this happen. It alleviated some of his fears about the vision, though he knew he still had to deal with it. "Well, I'm glad you find my discomfort so hilarious," Dean grumbled, smacking his lips again. But Sam could see that smile creeping onto Dean's lips. He was relieved. It seemed that lately there weren't many moments like this, where they could laugh at themselves and push away their worries for a time. In fact, Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his brother actually laugh. Not a chuckle, not a joking grin, but an outright laugh. It had been a while. A long while. Long enough for Sam to be unable to picture it or recall what it even sounded like.

"All right Bubbalicious," Sam said, garnering a playful sneer from his brother. "Back to those murders."

"Yes, please," Dean said exaggeratedly. "Give me something to take my mind off this taste."

Sam grinned and scrolled through the article. "Seven teenagers. They all died within three days of each other. It says that after the first one died, the rest of them seemed scared but wouldn't talk to anyone. They were all friends, good students, active in the community." Sam paused to read through a little bit more. They playfulness was starting to disappear. They were back to business. "Each of them were found with their throats slashed. Some had multiple stab wounds, a couple looked like they'd been beaten up beforehand. And…oh, here's where we come in. When they were found, all of their eyes were pitch black."

Dean thought for a minute. "Could be a demon," he said.

"Maybe," Sam agreed, scrolling through more of the gruesome details. "Could be a lot of things."

"No one saw or heard anything?" Dean asked, merging into the right lane, getting ready to take an exit to the town they were headed to.

Sam gave a long, "Uh," before saying, "There was one witness. A sister to one of the kids that died. It says the police weren't able to get much out of her and she had to be moved to Portage Independent Psychiatric Care Center." Sam looked up at that. "Sounds like we should talk to her."

"Key to this job," Dean nodded. "Always start with the loonies."

"Says the loony," Sam said before he could stop himself. He winced and looked up at his brother, but to his utter relief, Dean was actually grinning at the comment. Sam let out a quiet breath. Censor yourself, Sam. "It says her name is Cecily Fiesher."

"Where's the care center?" Dean asked, taking the exit off the highway and waiting for Sam to tell him where to go.

Sam pulled up the map and smiled at their luck. "Turn right, go straight for about ten miles and it's on the left."

Dean did as he was told and Sam scrolled through the article one more time, making sure he didn't miss anything important. Although they'd had that little break of hilarity, the bad feelings were starting to come back. He kept picturing his vision, Dean getting shot, himself holding the gun. They'd be able to stop it. They had to be able to stop it. He wouldn't go through that again. Not shooting his own brother and not having Dean come so close to death. It was getting ridiculous how many times his brother had almost died in the past few months. Ridiculous to a point that Sam thought their luck would be running out soon. He just hoped not this soon.

Dean pulled the car up in front of a building and turned off the engine. Sam ducked his head to look out the window at it. It looked pleasant enough. A nice stone sign out front with gold lettering. Flowers everywhere. The center itself looked like a quaint little house that had been remodeled into the building it was today. They got out of the car and Sam walked around, ready to go inside, but stopped when he realized Dean was still leaning against the car, looking at the house, confusion on his face.

"What is it?" Sam asked, coming back to him.

Dean gave a surprised, "Huh," and nodded his head towards the house. "It's a blue house."

Sam waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn't, he leaned forward and looked at his brother's face. Dean didn't seem to notice. "Uh, yeah, it is," Sam agreed, wondering what was going through his brother's mind. He had a distant look to his eyes.

"With white shutters," Dean said next. Sam chewed his lip and looked at the house. Was he supposed to find that interesting?

Sam frowned. "You, uh, taking an interest in Home and Garden?"

Dean didn't even look at him. He just gave a calm, "No," and shoved off the car, walking towards the door. Sam watched him for a second, wondering if he should suggest Dean stay in the car. He didn't think they'd let them talk to the sister if they didn't think they were credible. And if Dean said weird shit like that inside, not only would they think he wasn't credible, they may give him a room.

Running to catch up with his brother, Sam followed him inside and over towards a desk at the right side of the room. A woman in a flowered dress sat there. Her smile was too fake for Sam's liking. "How can I help you?" she chirped cheerily. She looked like she was on a caffeine overdose.

"Hi," Sam said when he realized Dean was looking around the room, not answered. "We're looking for a Cecily Fiesher."

"Do you have an inpatient visitation form?" the woman asked, her voice happy but her eyes told Sam differently.

"Uh," Sam smiled, turning on the charm. "We didn't know we needed one. You see, we're friends of the family and we just wanted to stop by and see how Cecily was doing. Terrible thing what happened."

The woman eyed him for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, it is," she agreed at last. "Look, I can't personally let you in to see her without a visitation form. But her mother is upstairs with her right now and if she says it's okay, then you're free to see her."

"Upstairs?" Sam asked.

"Yes, room four."

"Thank you," Sam grinned and the woman smiled back.

Sam followed Dean, who was already heading towards the stairs, and they found room four pretty easily. Dean was quiet and he kept looking around like he was trying to remember something about the place. Sam didn't think he would, they'd never been here before, as far as he knew. Unless Dean came here when Sam was at college, but wouldn't he have remembered it?

The door to the room opened before Sam had a chance to knock and a woman stepped out. She had blonde hair and was wearing a tank top and jeans. Her face was red and there were dark circles under her eyes. It was obvious she hadn't slept in days. Sam and Dean stood still for a moment as she jumped and put a hand to her heart. She took a breath and smiled. "You scared me," she admitted.

"Sorry," Sam smiled warmly. "Are you Mrs. Fiesher?" he chanced.

She looked surprised at that. "Yes," she answered. "Carol." She didn't give Sam time to introduce them. "Look, this isn't a very good time. Do you work for a paper or something? Because I could give you a call later, but right now is just not a good time for this."

Sam felt like an ass for doing this, but there was no other way. They had to talk to the sister. "We were actually hoping we could get a chance to talk to Cecily."

Carol paused for a moment, looking between the both of them, her mouth partly open. She started to say something when the door to the room pushed open a littler further. Carol stepped back and looked down. A small girl stepped out of the room. Her blonde hair was in pigtails and she held a Raggedy Ann doll in one hand. She couldn't have been older than four. Sam felt his heart constrict. She was the witness? God, she was so young to see something like this happen.

"Cecily," Carol said, kneeling down in front of her daughter. "Why don't you go back inside, honey. You can…"

But Cecily wasn't listening. She'd turned her head to eye Sam and Dean. When she looked at Dean, a wide smile spread across her face. Then, surprising all three of them, she went to Dean and wrapped her arms around his legs, hugging them tightly. Dean glanced at Sam, who gave him a questioning look.

"Dean," Cecily said and that drew all of the attention to her. Sam started. How the hell had she known Dean's name? Cecily pulled back a little and looked back up at Dean, her face still happy and calm.

"Cecily?" Carol asked quietly, looking up at Dean with an almost accusatory look in her eyes. But the little girl ignored her and what she said next had Dean forgetting about the entire world and focusing only on the beautiful, wide blue eyes that looked up at him.

"You found me."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Dean was sitting in a chair two sizes too small for him. Cecily hadn't given any of them time to react before she'd taken Dean's hand and had escorted him into the room, seating him on one side of a table while she walked around to the other and resumed the crayon drawing she'd been working on. Sam guessed his brother had been too startled to really object to the whole thing. It took a lot to shock his brother into a state of submission. Sam doubted that having a little girl say his name was enough to do the trick, so he could only guess that somehow, in some little way, Dean recognized the blonde girl with pigtails. Sam didn't think anything good could come of this.

Carol had gone in immediately after that, but still had yet to say anything. She was standing behind her daughter, looking at Dean like he was a long lost cousin they'd been told died years and years ago. Sam unknowingly mirrored her stance by standing behind his brother, a similar look on his face as he watched Cecily as she colored. Sam was aware that there was an awkward silence in the room, one that probably should have been filled with questions, worry, accusations, maybe even an explanation or two. But no one seemed to want to say a thing. Cecily was the only one who was acting like nothing strange was going on, like she hadn't just treated a complete stranger as if she'd known him her entire life, as if she'd expected him to show up, as if she hadn't just found someone she'd been playing a lifelong game of hide and seek with.

"Your name is Dean?" Carol's inquisitive voice finally broke the silence and Sam and Dean both looked up at her. Dean nodded slightly in response. "Dean Winchester?" she asked again, her eyes flickering.

Mouth half open, Dean struggled for a response. Sam winced when the only one his brother could come up with was, "Depends on what day of the week it is." But he'd said it without much emotion and his eyes were back on Cecily. Sam realized his brother was barely holding it together. He needed to take action.

"How did you know that?" he asked, taking a step protectively towards his brother. He half expected thirty FBI agents with guns blazing to jump out from behind the curtains and come at them. Dean Winchester was a wanted man. Dean Winchester was also a dead man with a tombstone over a coffin that held a creature with the same face. Dean Winchester wasn't a name they liked to throw around to complete strangers.

Carol shook her head and gave a smile that looked as if she didn't know what else to do. Smile or scream. She looked back down at Dean. "I thought…" she paused. "I thought Dean was her imaginary friend," she said at last. Sam frowned. What the hell was going on? "But, here you are, sitting in this room," Carol gave a gruff laugh. "She's been talking about you for months."

"What?" Sam blurted before he could stop himself. He exchanged a look with his brother. "What has she been saying?"

"She has an imagination," Carol said softly. "She makes up such stories. She talks about ghosts and all sorts of monsters." Carl laughed nervously. "She even had a horrible nightmare one night where Dean…where you…got electrocuted and had to go to the hospital. She woke up crying for days before she said that you were okay again. How silly is that?"

Sam chewed his lip. He wished he could agree that it was silly, that they were just nightmares that meant nothing. Were it not for the fact that it was true, Sam would have done just that. He looked down at Cecily. What was this kid, some kind of prophet? Were her dreams like Sam's?

Cecily suddenly looked up and caught Dean's eye. The two looked at each other for a moment before Cecily smiled and said, "I drew you a picture."

Dean looked a bit surprised. "You did?" he managed. It was only a small resemblance to his normal way of getting along with kids.

"Uh huh," Cecily said and got up. She walked to a coloring desk and took a picture out of one of the drawers. Then she came back over and put it down on the table. "I drew this place just for us." She slid it over to him and Sam leaned over to get a look. It was mostly a black picture. But there was a white, thick, wavy line in the middle and further off, down a white path, there was a white box. It didn't look like anything to Sam, but it obviously meant something to Dean.

Dean seemed to stare dazedly at the picture for a moment before he looked up at Cecily, his face a mixture of confusion and fear. With a trembling hand, he reached out and pulled the picture closer. After a few seconds, Dean put a closed fist to his mouth, the frown that lined his forehead was deeper than any Sam had ever seen and he suddenly realized why. Dean was on the verge of crying. Sam was shocked. He didn't know what to do. His brother was losing it, right here, in front of a little girl and her mother. Sam couldn't remember the last time Dean had let his emotions show so openly in front of strangers, hell, in front of Sam for that matter. Sam was usually the crier. Dean joked. Dean bantered. Dean made people smile. Dean did not stare at kids' pictures and clam up. Sam was at a loss.

Letting out a shaky breath, Dean tilted his head, eyeing Sam's legs. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but instead sat up straight and cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to get his emotions under control again. It worked a bit, but his face was still a bit read.

"You were there with me," Dean whispered, looking over at Cecily.

She nodded. "You remember."

When Dean just smiled, Sam decided to jump in. He needed to know what was going on. "Dean?" he asked. Dean turned to look at him. "What's going on?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Carol echoed, sitting down next to her daughter and looking at the picture as well.

Dean pointed to the picture. "I've been here," he said cryptically.

Sam frowned. "What?"

"I've been here." The shakiness was gone from his voice. "In the lake." Dean nodded, as if assuring himself of something. "How did we get there?"

"I brought it to you," Cecily said. Next to her, Carol looked as though she may burst. Sam felt the same way. "You were getting dark. I didn't want you to be in the dark."

Dean let out a sort of huffed laugh and gave a half smile. "Thanks," he gave weakly. He wasn't sure what else to say.

Sam was being patient. Or at least trying to be patient. If ever there was a time where he would consider classifying his emotional state as "wigging out," this would be that time. Sure, with this job they dealt with some strange stuff. They dealt with dangerous things, with scary things, with powerful things. And they could handle most of them. But this? This getting inside people's heads, prophetic dreams, "magic head" stuff? This was Sam's area. Dean hated this stuff. Sam lived with it. Dean was the fighter. He kicked ass and was good at doing it. Sam had visions. Sam was the beacon for the creepies. Sam's head was the magic head. So did it really make sense that Sam was lost and Dean was the one talking loony for a change? No. It made no sense. At all. Dammit, Sam wanted to know what was going on. He hated being left out of the loop. This was a trait he shared with his brother. And he was done with it.

"Dean," Sam said, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. Dean looked up at him. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" Giving him the classical, 'I didn't do anything, Mom,' look, Dean nodded and stood up. "Excuse us," Sam said to Carol and Cecily. Carol just stared at them incredulously. Sam knew they didn't have much time. He pulled his brother out into the hall and leaned close to him. "Dean, what the hell is going on?" he demanded.

"What, isn't it obvious?" Dean asked and Sam was about to tell him to stow the sarcasm but realized his brother was looking at him seriously.

"Are you joking?" Sam asked quietly. Dean shook his head slightly and frowned at Sam. "No!" Sam yelled a bit louder than he meant to. His frustration was obvious. "No, it's not obvious! Dean, how do you know this little girl? And what was that drawing? I don't understand what it has to do with the lake. What do you mean you've been there? And what about…"

Dean held up his hand, cutting Sam off. "Whoa, whoa," he said and Sam took a deep breath, resisting the urge to scream at his brother to just tell him what the hell was going on. "Okay, one: we're switching you to decaf." Sam scowled, but Dean didn't give him time to respond. "And two…" Dean's mouth was open and he gave a nervous chuckle, shaking his head a little. "I don't exactly i know her /i know her, but…I know her."

Sam just stared at him. He needed a fun word for this emotion. Shocked didn't cut it. Blubbering wouldn't fit. Exasperated was close. Ah, flabbergasted. That was it. "Am I supposed to understand that?" he grit out.

Dean looked just as annoyed as Sam felt. He wasn't sure if his brother was annoyed with him or annoyed with the fact that this was so complicated. "Look, Sammy," Dean shrugged. "You know, at the lake…" he paused, a frown creasing his eyebrow. "She was there. She was inside my head, Sam. I mean, that picture, we were there, we were at that white river. And then it got dark and…I don't know why I'm remembering this now." Sam watched his brother ramble, remembering abstract concepts of something Sam couldn't understand. "She told me where to find her. Blue house, white shutters. She said she needed my help." Sam stood back at that. Something was starting to make sense.

"I need you to save me," Sam whispered. Dean looked up at him, surprised. "You said that in your sleep. Does that have anything to do with this?" Dean nodded. "Then all these things that you've been doing. It's because of her." Dean opened his mouth to say something but then a disgusted look crossed his face. "What? What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"Dude, you better not be contagious." Sam tilted his head. He wasn't following. "Because if this means I'm getting the shining, we are so sleeping in separate rooms." Sam couldn't help the sigh that escaped him. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to calm himself down.

When he opened his eyes again, Dean was watching, worried. "I don't think it's you that has the shining, Dean," Sam said mockingly. He hated calling it the shining. "I think it's her." Another piece of the puzzle suddenly clicked into place. "She came to you. When you were…dead…she got inside your head. Your defenses were down, that's why she could get in. Jesus, Dean we were half way across the country. For her to reach out that far…"

Dean was looking at him questioningly. "Okay, see, this is where my loony speak stops. I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, she's a telepath. A strong one at that. She got inside your head when you couldn't fight back. But why was she dreaming of you?" Sam was starting to think out loud. He wasn't even looking at Dean anymore. "Something must have sparked her connection to you. They don't just happen randomly."

"When did you become the expert on psychic powers?" Dean asked suddenly, breaking Sam's thoughts.

Sam shrugged. "I did a little reading."

Dean eyed him. "Yeah, okay," he said suspiciously. "So, the girl's inside my head, what now?"

"She said she needed you to save her, right?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean agreed and then shook his head as if he were clearing up a memory. "And there was something about a basement or something. I don't remember."

Sam watched his brother frown. He was concentrating so hard that Sam couldn't resist. "Don't hurt yourself." Dean looked up at him and glared, but further conversation was broke off when Carol came out of the room looking angry but also a bit frightened. She stood with her hands crossed over her chest.

"Will someone explain to me what's going on now?" she demanded.

Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder and pushed him forward. "Sammy boy will explain everything," he said. "Do you mind if I go back and talk to Cecily?" He didn't wait for a reply. "Thanks."

Carol scoffed and looked back at Sam, who smiled, a bit embarrassed. He could hear Dean start to talk to Cecily but then he focused on Carol. They wouldn't be able to do anything to help out around here if Carol thought they were scam artists out to get her daughter. All right, here goes nothing. "Carol, I know this is a lot to take in right now, especially after what your family has gone through. But I need you to believe me when I say that we're not here to hurt either of you. We're here to help."

"This is a little much for me," Carol admitted.

"I know," Sam said gently. "Carol, do you ever notice anything, odd about your daughter?" He hurried to go on, seeing the look on Carol's face. "Does she ever know whose calling before you pick up the phone? Or, maybe she answers questions you think you said inside your head?"

Carol stood quietly for a moment. Sam guessed that she had noticed things like that happening. "Why are you asking me this?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Carol, we think your daughter is a telepath. And she's connecting with my brother." He watched the words sink in. She didn't look as surprised as she should have been. "She asked Dean to come here and help her. She said she needed to be saved. Does that mean anything to you?"

With a shaky breath, Carol closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were tearful. "My son, Jeremy, he was killed almost two weeks ago. His friends were killed too. Cecily…she thinks that whoever killed them is going to come after her."

"Why would she think that?" Sam asked gently.

Carol sniffed and ran a hand across her eyes. "Because he told her he would."

center /center 

Dean sat across from Cecily, who was back to coloring. He looked around the room, taking in everything he saw. His eyes fell on the bathroom door. He noticed the light was on. So, Sammy's theory was right. The girl had an obsession with turning on bathroom lights. Nothing wrong with that. He just wished she wouldn't make him do the same thing.

"I need the white spots," Cecily's voice broke into Dean's thought and he found she was watching him. "That's why I keep the lights on."

"White spots?" Dean asked, eyes glancing back towards the picture she'd drawn him.

"A place where he can't get us," she whispered.

"He?" Dean asked. But Cecily went back to coloring. She didn't answer him. Dean chewed his lip. Why did he always get stuck talking to the kids? But he knew the grumpiness wasn't whole hearted. He had a soft spot for kids. He didn't know where it came from. "Does this have to do with your brother?" She didn't look up at him. "I need to know what I'm supposed to save you from." She looked up then, but she didn't say anything. Dean tried again. "What are you afraid of, Cecily?"

"I'm not afraid," she scowled.

Dean smiled. Brave little kid. "You know, it's okay to be afraid. But sometimes we have to face our fears."

"I don't want to," Cecily said quietly.

"Are you afraid of what happened to your brother?" Cecily just stared down at the table, her lips quivering. All right, he was getting somewhere. "I'm afraid of things happening to my brother too." Dean said after a moment. "I'm afraid of losing him." She still didn't say anything. "But you know, I just promise myself that I won't let anything happen to him. But if anything ever did, I'd want someone to come and save me too." i If someone still cared. If someone would actually come when his sons needed him. /i "I'd do anything to make sure that whatever hurt my brother pays for it. Even if it meant it would be scary."

"It's too scary," Cecily whispered.

"I'll tell you what," Dean said, leaning closer. "I'll help you through it. I'll make sure nothing happens to you."

"But he knows you're coming," she cried.

Dean's heart skipped a beat. "Who knows?" Nothing. "Cecily, who knows?" he demanded a bit more forcefully.

"The man in the dark!" she screamed and as the words came out of her mouth, the lights flickered and the door to the room slammed closed with such ferocity that it cracked the doorframe. Dean stared at it for a moment before looking back at Cecily, who was crying silently. He could hear Sam and Carol on the other side of the door, pounding on it and yelling their names. He blocked them out for a minute.

"Cecily, did you make the door close?" Dean asked quietly. She nodded once but refused to look at him. "Does that happen a lot?" Another nod. "When you get mad?"

"I can't stop it sometimes," she whispered. "It scares me."

Dean licked his lips. Well it damn well scared him too. Suck it up though, the kid needs you. "Can you open the door?" She didn't respond. "Did your brother know about this?" Still nothing. He was running out of ideas. "Whose the man in the dark?" Not even a flinch. "Cecily, where can I find a white spot?" The pounding on the other side of the door was growing more insistent. He could hear Sam trying to kick the door in and yelling in frustration. The lights inside the room were flickering violently. The temperature was dropping rapidly. Dean felt like there was a growing pressure all around him, trying to squeeze him to death. And Cecily had basically shut down. One last idea. "How does he know I'm coming?"

That seemed to do it. He didn't know why, he didn't know how, but it worked. The lights went back to normal, the door suddenly slammed open, sending his brother sprawling onto the floor as he'd been trying to break it down. But that didn't keep Sam down. He got to his feet and stared at his brother. Dean looked at him and he must have looked scared because Sam came over, out of breath, and leaned down to get a good look at his face. Carol rushed to her daughter, smoothing down her hair and wiping the tears off her cheeks. Dean noticed Cecily was watching him with a look akin to disappointment on her face. He didn't know what he'd done wrong.

Carol was fussing over her daughter, checking to see if Dean had hurt her at all. Sam was standing next to his brother, checking to see if Cecily had hurt him at all. But all Dean or Cecily could do was stare at each other. At last, Cecily was the one to speak. And her words only made Dean think that maybe this was going to be tougher than they thought.

"Because he brought you here."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

There was a part of him that acknowledged that he should have figured it out by now. Should have known it: in this job, this hunt, there have always been, and will always be, more questions than there are answers. And Dean knew, in every part of him; inside, outside, heart, soul, mind, hell even his fucking pinky finger, he knew that by now, after all these years of chasing the paranormal, fighting the supernatural, facing the preternatural, he should come to expect that things will never be as easy as he thought. No matter how hard he thought a job would be, it would be ten times harder. Without fail. He had enough scars to prove it. They all had enough scars to prove it. They were a scarred family, it was a miracle they were still all so damn good looking. Well, him anyways. Sammy could use a haircut. And John? Dean supposed the man would clean up nice. But when would that ever happen? His father hadn't cleaned up in years.

"Dean?" Sam's voice broke through the wandering thoughts and as he blinked back to awareness, he realized he'd been caught in the middle of a stare down with Cecily. How could anyone win against those eyes? They were deep and older than they should have been. And there was a darkness there that Dean couldn't explain; because Cecily had the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Without realizing it, Dean felt himself being drawn back into those eyes. Something wasn't right. They were Cecily's eyes, wide and beautiful, but there was something else watching. Something that had reached out through the kid's pupils and drew Dean in like a siren. He couldn't resist. "Dean," Sam said again, this time a bit snappish.

And whatever had been in those eyes was gone now and only a little girl stared back at him, scared, frightened, and begging for his help. Dean could practically feel the tension buzzing off his brother. Sam had a hand on his shoulder and he figured half of that tension was there because he hadn't swatted him away. Well, there would be no point in shoving him off now. Besides, he felt like he needed the hand to be there, just in case whatever had been inside Cecily's eyes decided to try and drag him in again.

"I think you should leave now," came Carol's voice. Dean forgot she was there and jolted a bit, feeling Sam's hand tighten on his shoulder. Dammit, why was he so jumpy?

"No!" Cecily screamed, her eyes looking panicked. Carol instantly sobered and tried to calm her daughter, but Cecily just started crying. "No, Mommy, don't make him leave! He's the hero. Please, Mommy, please!" She sounded hysterical by now and Dean couldn't help but feel like somehow this was his fault. "He'll make Jeremy's circles go away." Carol looked stunned by the comment. Dean jumped on the opportunity.

"Jeremy's circles?" he asked, not sure who he was directing the question at, probably whomever would answer. Carol looked up at him, looking frustrated and overwhelmed. "Jeremy's her brother, right?" Suddenly, Cecily bolted away from her mother. She came leaping across the table and Dean had to swiftly lean back and put up his arms and catch her to keep from falling over. Her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, her face digging into the crook of his neck. Dean was stunned for a minute before he put a hand on her head and whispered, "Hey, hey, shh. It's alright."

Cecily squeeze him tighter. "The man in the dark made Jeremy go to sleep and he's not going to wake up. He made him go to sleep because of his circles." She was sobbing now and couldn't help but wrap his other arm around her. Stupid soft spot for kids. But she was a brave little thing, he'd give her that. He hadn't forgotten that she'd seen her brother and two of his friends be killed in front of her. Throats slit. Eyes pitch black. Work of the man in the dark. Dean could somewhat sympathize. Though, his own memories consisted of smoke and heat. He couldn't imagine watching his brother's throat being slit in front of him. God, just the thought of it.

Sam came around them and walked to the other side of the table where Carol was silently crying her own tears. "Carol," Sam's voice was gently, smooth, just right to ease people into trusting him. Dean had always admired that in his brother. Maybe because it took him forever to get strangers to trust him. "Do you have any idea what she's talking about?" Sam asked quietly.

Carol gave a deep sigh before looking at Sam. "This is real, isn't it?" She asked. Sam tilted his head a little. Carol nodded her head towards the door. "She did that, didn't she?"

"I think so," he conceded.

Carol looked over at Cecily, who had stopped crying and was now just letting Dean comfort her, but her face was turned towards her mother, listening to what they were saying. "Jeremy…" Carol paused before going on. "My son was a good person. Ask anyone and they'll tell you. But, lately, he'd been getting into things that worried me."

"What sort of things?" Sam asked.

"I'm not sure exactly," Carol admitted. "He had these drawings of symbols and markings. But when I called it witchcraft he got mad." Dean caught the look Sam gave him. Now that was interesting. "He had all these symbols drawn on the walls in his bedroom and his friends brought over the strangest things. But every time I asked him what he was doing, he told me that it was nothing bad. He even said, i Mom, you don't have anything to worry about. We're being safe. /i " Carol put a hand over her mouth and fought back tears. "I should have done something more."

"I don't think there was anything you could have done," Sam tried to comfort her. She nodded and looked over at Cecily again. "Carol, I'm sorry for prying like this, but do you think we could get a look at Jeremy's room?"

Carol looked mildly offended, but she then nodded. "I can't pretend to know what's going on here," she whispered. "But my daughter's never attached herself to someone like that." She smiled when Dean gave her an uncomfortable look. "I feel like I've lost control." Then she looked back over at Sam. "Do you really think my daughter has…powers?"

"Yeah," Sam answered again with a small smile. It would probably take months of affirming the thought before Carol would actually accept it. Sam thought about giving her Missouri's phone number, to see if the psychic could help at all. But they'd worry about that later. "I do."

"And, you think that her dreams and her power had something to do with my son's murder?" Carol asked.

"That's what we're going to find out," Sam answered gently.

Carol sighed. "I guess I have no choice," she whispered. "Let me get Ceci's nurse." She looked one last time at her daughter before walking out of the room.

Sam turned to Dean, who was trying to get Cecily to let go of him so he could see her face. He wasn't used to the whole collapsing of the personal bubble. Sam was finding it amusing. His brother looked so uncomfortable, but at the same time, Dean was being as gentle as Sam had ever seen him. Sam tried not to think of how seeing him like this made him wish their lives were different. Though sometimes Dean acted like a kid himself, Sam knew, without a doubt, that his brother would make an awesome father. Sam already knew he could play the part, he'd seen it so many times when they were kids and their Dad left Dean in charge.

Finally, Dean managed to pry Cecily away far enough so he could see her face. "Hey," he tried to get her to smile. She did and Sam watched both their faces light up almost equally. They had the same looks on their faces and Sam realized Cecily must still have a connection with his brother. She was still inside his head. "Cecily, what did you mean when you said he was the one who brought us here?" Dean asked, picking her up and shifting her so she was sitting sideways on his lap, more comfortable for the both of them. "Because, you know, I let Sam drive for like an hour. So do that mean he's crossed over to the dark side?" Sam rolled his eyes at the notion. Cecily saw it and smiled before she bit her lip and shook her head. "Well that's good," Dean gave Sam a playful look, to which he just sneered back at. "So how did he bring us here?"

"He just did," she whispered. "He made everything happen."

They didn't have time to guess what she meant by that before Carol came back into the room with a nurse. They said their goodbyes, with Dean having to promise Cecily he'd be back before she finally let him go. Neither Cecily, nor Dean, looked too happy to be leaving each other and Sam wondered if Cecily even knew how to break the tie she shared with his brother. Would he always have her inside his head? Sam hoped not. It wouldn't be healthy for any of them.

center /center 

Carol showed them to Jeremy's bedroom and told them that she would wait downstairs. Sam guessed that she didn't want to go into the room so soon after her son's death. He'd be willing to bet she hadn't even opened the door yet. It was always the hardest part to come home and find their stuff laying around, to find everything that was a reminder that they weren't coming back. Sam had a hard enough time looking at Jeremy's picture collage lining the door and he didn't even know the kid.

As soon as Carol was out of sight, Dean opened the door and they both stepped in. They didn't make it far before both of them froze, unsure of how to proceed. The room looked like something their father would have lived in if he'd started the hunt in his teenage years. Newspaper clippings, drawings, photocopies, and painted symbols lined the walls in such a clutter it made Sam's eyes hurt. There was a bookcase overflowing with books, journals, and notebooks. Candles, charms, and a rather wide collection of daggers filled every possible nook and cranny the room had to offer.

"Damn this kid needed a hobby," Dean muttered as he walked further into the room.

"I think this was his hobby," Sam answered as he went over to a table that had open books and drawings on it.

"I mean a real one," Dean said, instantly drawn to the daggers. Like a kid to candy. "Like cars or…cars." Sam snorted and kept looking around. After a moment, Dean gave a hushed laugh and Sam turned to see that his brother had found a pack of grape bubble gum. Cecily's no doubt. Dean held it up to him. "The devil does come in gum flavor."

Sam shook his head. "You're such an idiot," he mumbled. Then he stopped, head tilted forward as he started to read the open page in the journal in front of him. After a few sentences, Sam's interest was peeked. "I think I found something."

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked, coming over, and bringing one of Jeremy's daggers with him. He was flipping it around in his hand and Sam was almost tempted to tell him not to play with knives, but if Dean didn't play with knives, Sam didn't know what he'd play with.

"Read this," Sam said and pointed to the open page.

Dean cleared his throat. "Kasey's dead." He harrumphed and looked at Sam. "Kid shoulda been a novelist."

"Just read," Sam demanded.

Trying again. "Kasey's dead. Just like Greg and Mike. We tried to stop him but we brought him back too powerful." Dean's eyes widened. "Brought him back?" he asked Sam. "Necromancy."

Sam nodded. He pointed to a few of the drawings. "That would explain Jeremy's i circles. /i But he doesn't have half the stuff he would need to do this here." Sam was looking around. "If they brought something back from the dead, they didn't do it in this room."

Dean nodded and pointed to the journal. "You keep reading," he said. "Find out what kind of spook we're dealing with."

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, irked at being left to do the reading, like always.

"He said i we, /i " like that should explain it all. When Sam just stared at him blankly, Dean reached out and punched his shoulder. "Come on, college boy, what do you do when you want to chill with your friends?" Another blank look. Dean shook his head. "You shoulda joined a frat. You get the hell out of the house!" Dean said, exasperated. "Away from Mom and Dad. Especially if you're doing crazy shit you don't want them to know about. So they had to have had a hangout. I bet Mom knows where it is. Good kid like Jeremy, he probably called every hour to check in."

"Wow and you thought of this all by yourself?" Sam asked with a smile.

Dean smiled back but swiped out at Sam again, catching him on the arm. Dean turned and headed towards the door. "Don't get too lonely without me."

"Yeah right," Sam muttered as Dean grinned and headed to find Carol. Getting back to work, Sam flipped back a few pages in the journal and found the first entry where Jeremy talked about the illusive man in the dark. It sounded like the whole thing had started off as nothing more than a test to see if they could actually do it. They didn't think it would work. Sam read further and further into the details of what they'd done to prepare for the whole thing. Jeremy was actually a pretty organized kid. He had neat, clear lists of everything they needed and used. Sam just wished he would say what they brought back. Maybe they didn't even know?

Flipping the page, Sam's wish was partially granted. He found out Jeremy hadn't used the traditional Latin verses to bring a soul back, they'd used an Aramaic verse, the language of Christ. Sam was elated that he was finally getting somewhere, but at the same time discouraged over what he had just learned. He didn't speak Aramaic and neither did Dean, unless his brother how somehow managed to learn it in the four years he'd been away. Though he doubted that. There were few people who spoke Aramaic outside of the religious sects. "Great," Sam mumbled to himself, knowing what they were dealing with now. It explained a lot of things.

Dean came into the room a moment later with a grin on his face. "Finding anything fun?" he asked cockily. Apparently i he /i had.

"Well, they brought back a soul," Sam said. "They didn't say they attached it to a body, so it sounded like a Familiar, but then I found this." He pointed at the journal and Dean, with that stupid grin of his still plastered on his face, leaned over to eye it. "It's the verse they used. It's Aramaic."

"Jesus speak?" Dean asked, eyes widening.

Sam resisted the urge to laugh at the terminology Dean used. No use encouraging him. "Bingo." Sam put his thumb in the journal to hold his page and turned more to face Dean. "Mix dead souls, black magic runes, and Aramaic verses together and what do you get? A wraith, with demon-like qualities."

Dean's eyes widened. "That would explain the reoccurring theme of darkness," he mumbled.

"And it would explain why all of the bodies were found with black eyes," Sam added. "A wraith's calling card."

"Sounds fun," Dean said, only half kidding.

"The good thing is that we can get rid of it through exorcism," Sam bit his lip then, knowing Dean wasn't going to like this. "The bad thing is, it has to be done in Aramaic." Dean's grin faded. "He's got most of it sounded out here." Sam held up the journal. "It's just gonna take a while to put it together for the reverse."

"Then I'm glad geek boys' here," Dean said and clapped Sam on the shoulder.

Sam scoffed. "Why do I always have to do the reading?" he complained, knowing he was sounding childish.

"Because you're better at it," Dean answered straightforward. Then the grin was back. "Now, I'll see your Aramaic verses and demon-like wraiths, and I'll raise you seven dead kids and an abandoned wine factory."

"A wine factory?" Sam asked. "That's where they hung out?"

"Yahtzee," Dean answered with a grin. "And we're going there too."

Sam frowned. "What, right now?"

Dean just tilted his head and gave him a look. "Why? You wanna get your nails done first? Sammy, you're pretty enough as it is, I don't think Spooks is gonna care." Sam rolled his eyes and shoved his brother away, only making Dean chuckle at him.

"Don't you think we should know the verse first?" Sam asked, mildly irritated.

"It's the middle of the day!" Dean cried. "There won't be anything there while the sun's still up." Dean turned around and headed towards the door. "Know you're battlefield, Sammy."

Sam sighed and giving one last look around the room, he decided there was no arguing with Dean now. When his brother decided on something, then it was decided. He could start putting together the counter verse in the car, so at least they'd be a little prepared before barging in there. He started out of the bedroom door and towards the stairs. So, an exorcism. He could handle that. Sam guessed he had expected something more. The whole thing seemed to be beyond the limits of a simple wraith, but unless they were missing something huge, that's what they were dealing with.

Sam started down the stairs after his brother and saw Dean turned his head to the side, getting ready to say something to him. But Dean never got the chance. Sam wasn't sure what happened, but Dean suddenly doubled over and would have fallen down the stairs had Sam not acted quickly and reached out to grab a handful of Dean's shirt. He stopped his brother from falling completely down, but both of them landed hard on the stairs. Sam dropped the journal and got a better hold of his brother, panic making him act quickly. What the hell just happened?

Dean was gritting his teeth and grinding the palms of his hands into his eyes, grunting at a pain that hadn't been there only seconds before. "Dean?" Sam asked, frantic as his brother kept leaning forward, completely oblivious that if Sam hadn't been holding on, he'd be falling headfirst down the staircase. "Dean, what's going on?" Sam asked urgently, trying to pry Dean's hands away from his eyes. "Dean?" Sam demanded, but his brother wasn't listening. Sam wasn't sure if he could. He was clenching his teeth, his whole body tense, small, painful gasping noises escaping him.

Carol suddenly ran to the staircase from where she had been seated in the kitchen. "What happened?" she asked. If Dean hadn't been withering in pain, Sam would have been touched by her concern.

"I don't know," he answered breathily. "Dean?" he tried again. Carol came up and sat on the step below them, helping Sam keep Dean from falling down the stairs. "Dean, hey," he tried. And suddenly, Dean jerked violently like he'd been struck and then stopped struggling completely. Sam felt a whole new wave of panic course through him, but when Dean lowered his hands from his eyes and sat still, drawing in deep breaths, Sam was more confused than anything. "Dean?" he asked. And without hesitation, Dean turned to look at him, whatever pain he'd been feeling completely gone. Sam just stared at him for a second. "What happened?" he asked.

Dean didn't answer as the phone suddenly rang. Carol looked torn. Then she quickly asked, "Should I call for a doctor?"

"No," Dean answered, his voice shaky. "But you should answer the phone." His voice was detached and Sam was worried all over again.

Carol hesitated for only a second before she hurried down the stairs and into the living room to get the phone. Sam pulled Dean back so he could get a look at him. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

Dean nodded, but he still looked shaken. "It wasn't me," he whispered, his eyes watering slightly. "I don't feel her anymore." He turned his head towards the living room expectantly. Sam didn't know what to say. He wasn't used to this role reversal going on. Again, he had to ask himself why this was happening to Dean and not to him. But when Carol dropped the phone and came running back to them, near hysterics, Sam didn't care who it was happening to anymore. He felt his heart stop and he felt Dean tense up beneath him.

"Cecily's gone!" she cried and grabbed hold of Dean's shirt as if the motion would spur Dean into action. "He's got her. He's got my daughter."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"You got that thing done yet?" Dean demanded as he pulled the Impala unceremoniously to a stop in front of the winery. It was old and creepy looking, falling apart at the seams and sporting a wide assortment of graffiti tags. Most of the windows were broken, a few were boarded up but Sam guessed that the townspeople had probably given up on keeping teenagers out of the building a long time ago.

Looking over at his brother, Sam saw the impatience in his brother's face and already knew that no matter what the answer was, they'd be going inside that building within the next few minutes. Dean had pushed caution to the wind and only cared about one thing now: Cecily. And no matter what Sam said, no matter how dangerous he told him it would be to go in there without the Aramaic verses ready for exorcism, Dean was going inside that winery with or without him. Leave it to Dean to make Sam look like the uncaring one. Usually it was Sam who got too emotionally attached. But Sam guessed that having a little girl put images into our mind would automatically connect you on a million different levels.

It wasn't that Sam didn't want to bust in there and save Cecily from this monster. It wasn't that he didn't want to try and find her alive. And it sure as hell wasn't that Sam didn't care about saving a life. It was that Sam wanted to make sure their own lives were safe first. His brother was in hero mode, he had been since Cecily had come out and knew him at first sight. Sam admired Dean when he was in this mode, but he also feared it. He feared it because in Dean's mind, heroes and martyrs were interchangeable. And Sam was just not willing to see things that way yet. In his eyes, no life was worth Dean giving up his own. None. Though it wasn't something Sam thought about often, he had thought about it before. Nothing in the world would ever change Sam's mind about that.

"There are a few words Jeremy didn't have in his journal," Sam answered. "I don't have the complete verse yet. We won't be able to do an exorcism until I have it."

Dean pondered it for a second, or pretended to anyway, before he gave a nod and said, "Then figure it out, I'll meet you inside."

Sam gave an exasperated, "What?" but it fell on deaf ears as Dean was already out the door and rounding the car to get to the trunk. Sam shook his head at the notion of Dean going into that winery by himself. He quickly got out of the car and came to the trunk, watching his brother pack a duffle bag with any supplies he thought he may need. "Dean, you can't go in there by yourself," he tried, knowing it was futile. "Just wait a little bit, I can look online or find a library or…"

"We can't wait that long, Sam," Dean said, irritated. He continued to pack his bag, not looking at Sam. "I can get in there and get the kid while you figure the Jesus-speak out."

Sam stared at his brother for a moment, trying to push down the scream of frustration that wanted to explode from his throat and assault his brother. "You're serious?" Sam asked through clenched teeth.

"Hell yeah I'm serious," Dean said, zipping up the bag and pulling a shotgun under his arm before closing the trunk. Then he looked at Sam and gave a grin. "You know I have done this alone before, Sam. There was a time when your scrawny ass wasn't around to bitch and moan."

Ignoring the jibe for the moment, Sam grabbed Dean's arm as he turned to go. Dean gave him a look which Sam promptly dismissed. Dean couldn't pull that big brother crap on him now. "Have you been paying any attention to what's been going on the past couple of weeks?" Sam yelled. At Dean's frown, Sam knew he didn't even want to hear the answer. He went on before Dean could deny anything. "Cecily dreaming about you for months, getting inside your head, telling you this thing knows your coming and then saying he was the one who brought you here? Oh not to mention the little matter of my dream about shooting you. None of this clues you in that maybe it's not a good idea for you to go in there alone and unprepared?"

Dean just stared back at him. He could tell by the look on his face that maybe Dean had thought of all this. His brother gave him a sad smile and Sam knew he had lost the battle. Dean was still a stubborn ass. Oh the joys of being a Winchester.

"She's four years old," Dean said quietly, his eyes practically pleading with Sam for that to be enough. For the simple fact that she was just a little girl to make Sam understand why he was willing to go in there without the proper tools to dispel the son of a bitch. Sam's shoulders dropped slightly. It was enough, but only because Sam could read the rest of the story in Dean's eyes. The fact that she was so young was only the tip of the iceberg of guilt Dean had floating inside of him.

"Dean…" he tried.

"Besides," the sadness was gone from Dean's eyes and instead, his brother plastered on that stupid grin of his. "No way am I letting my little brother shoot me twice. Hence the absence of a gun in your hands."

Sam chewed his cheek for a moment, silent battles being waged between them as they stared at each other. Well, Dean was obviously not going to back down and there was no way Sam was letting Dean go in there by himself. Sam knew that Dean was in danger, he just knew. Cecily had told them that the wraith knew Dean was coming. That meant it was prepared for him. And they weren't prepared for it. That in itself should have been enough to keep Dean out, but it wasn't. And it wouldn't be enough for Sam either.

"You just said hence," he smiled and Dean grinned back.

"Thought I'd try out some of your fancy collegiate words," Dean answered.

"I'm coming with you," Sam said immediately. "Salt and holy water should still be enough to hold it off. We'll get Cecily and figure out the rest of the verse later."

"That's my boy," Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder and turned towards the winery. Sam caught up with him.

"I really don't get a gun?" he asked as Dean threw his bag over the chain link fence and then scaled it easily. When he was on the other side, Sam did the same thing. He landed by his brother and paused as he saw Dean holding his knife out to him. "A knife?" he asked but accepted it anyway. "What good is that going to do against a wraith?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe it will be afraid of sharp pointy objects." He headed towards the door.

Sam watched him, shocked. "You're really not going to give me a gun?" he asked, following his brother.

"Nope." Dean pushed open the door and held it for Sam, who stood for a second staring at his brother. Dean just smiled and nodded his head, motioning for Sam to get inside. Sam gave an incredulous laugh before he stepped into the door. Dean closed it behind them and they both stood still for a moment until their eyes adjusted to the darker interior of the winery. The sun coming in from the windows didn't do much to light the inside but they could see well enough. They were standing in the large room that had an assembly line zigzagging around the room. At the back of the room were two large vats. To the side there was an open door leading to a hallway with doors that Sam supposed were offices.

"Well this should be fun," Dean said dryly.

"Where should we start?" Sam asked.

"We'll clear this room and move on to that hallway," Dean said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the EMF meter. Flipping it on, he held it out in front of him and they started walking through the room. Sam kept his eyes peeled, hoping they'd find Cecily right away so they could get out of here quickly and get on with figuring out that verse. He didn't even want to think of the possibility that maybe Cecily was already dead. If Dean was feeling guilty now, Sam couldn't even imagine.

They weaved in and out about the assembly line, checking beneath and behind everything. Sam looked over at his brother. "Dean, how do we even know it brought her here?" he asked softly.

Dean turned to look at him, a frown marring his face. "We don't," he answered after a moment. He was about to say something else when the EMF meter suddenly spiked in his hands. He looked down at it and then started holding it around the room. "Sammy…"

But Sam didn't get a chance to say anything as something suddenly wrapped itself around his ankles. His mind instantly went back to Lawrence and he looked over at Dean. His brother was frowning at him and Sam couldn't even warn him before Sam's feet were pulled out from under him. He landed hard on his stomach, heard Dean call his name, and then he was being dragged through the room.

Sam cursed as whatever was dragging him not so gently brought him around the corner and he hit the wall. He pulled his arms in front of his face to protect himself as he flipped onto his back. He tried to watch where he was headed and his eyes widened as he saw the set of double doors quickly coming closer. He braced himself for the impact, but nothing could have prepared him for what was behind those double doors.

The concrete stairs leading towards the cellar were not one of Sam's favorite parts about the winery. He cried out as he was dragged down them, his shoulders and back taking the beating. He managed to keep his head leaned forward so he wouldn't break open the back of his skull. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, whatever had been dragging him suddenly flung Sam into the wall. He hit it with a grunt and fell to the floor, where he lay for a moment, waiting for another attack. But none came.

Sam tried to push himself up, but pain laced through his shoulders and his arms felt weak. God, that was going to leave a mark. Why was he always the one being dragged through houses and stuff? He sat himself up gingerly and leaned against the wall, eyes scanning the area. And as he took in his surroundings, he froze as he heard the sound of soft crying. Ignoring the painful ache in his body, Sam stood up, having to lean against the wall for support. He frowned and tried to pinpoint the crying but couldn't quite manage to do so. He hesitated only a second before calling out, "Cecily?"

After a few moments when Sam thought no one would answer, a small head poked slowly out from one of the rooms. Sam wanted to cry in relief when he saw it was Cecily. Tear stained cheeks, quivering lips, and scared round eyes, but it was Cecily nonetheless. When she saw Sam, she sobbed out his name and burst out of the doorway, running at him. Sam squatted down painfully and Cecily wrapped her arms around him, sobbing hard and openly now. Sam picked her up and stood, holding her close.

"It's okay," he assured her. "You're okay. We're going to get you out of here, Cecily." Cecily just continued to cry and Sam looked around. Dammit Dean, we're getting her out of here so you better get your ass down here.

As if on cue, Dean came rushing down the stairs and halted when he spotted Sam holding Cecily. Dean's shoulders relaxed at the sight and he spat out an angry, "Jesus," before coming over and inspecting the both of them, making sure neither one of them was hurt too bad. Cecily didn't seem to realize he was even there she was so scared and had her face tucked into Sam's chest. "You okay?" he asked, catching Sam's eye.

"Let's just get out of here," Sam said. "This doesn't feel right."

Dean nodded and turned towards the stairs, one hand on Sam's shoulder, the other holding the shotgun down at his side. He started to push Sam towards the stairs when the room suddenly dimmed. "Shit," Dean whispered, bringing the shotgun up as dark tendrils of wicked black smoke started to spark down the staircase. It was moving slow and Dean was waiting for it to get closer to pull the trigger. "Sammy, get ready to run," he said. Sam nodded, his eyes on the smoke. But then the smoke sped up and like lightning it flashed to the bottom of the stairs. Dean's finger twitched on the trigger and he was about to pull it when the smoke materialized itself in front of them. It was a man clad in a suit. He was completely hairless, eyebrows and everything. His eyes were wide and horrifying, the pupils so big there was no color there and the whites of his eyes were swirled with black veins. He had his arms at his side and he stood perfectly still, not rushing them, just standing there, watching.

Sam fully expected Dean to pull the trigger right then. His legs were tensed, ready to sprint forwards up the stairs and run as fast as they could to the car. He fully expected Dean to fight off the wraith, to cuss, to get angry. He fully expected Dean to do i something /i . But panic suddenly surged through him as the man smiled and Dean didn't do anything. Not a thing. He stood still, eyes wide with an emotion Sam had never seen in his brother before. Dean's face had gone white, his breath hitched in his throat. The two stared at each other for a moment before a single word slipped from Dean's mouth.

"Genie."

Realizing his brother was caught up in something Sam couldn't see and wouldn't be pulling the trigger any time soon, he quickly took control. He set Cecily down hurriedly and grabbed the shotgun, aimed, pulled the trigger. The wraith's eyes shot towards him for a second but as the rock salt hit him, he disappeared, the black smoke lingering in the air and slowly starting to regroup. Fuck. Time to run.

"Dean," Sam demanded as he picked Cecily up again. Dean seemed to snap out of whatever trance he'd been in and looked at Sam. He looked towards the smoke and then reached forward and grabbed Sam's shirt, pulling him as they ran deeper into the basement. They only stopped when they reached the end of the hall and had no where else to go.

"Shit," Dean spat. Sam set Cecily down. "God Dammit!" Dean suddenly yelled, surprising Sam and punched the wall. He started pacing, a hand running over his head, a pensive look on his face. Sam wasn't sure all of Dean's anger was aimed at the wall.

"Dean?" Sam asked. Dean glanced over at him and immediately stopped pacing. He stared at Sam for a moment, sizing him up, gauging something in him that Sam wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be gauged.

"Eugene Stephan Braunstein," Dean said suddenly, dropping his hands to his side and standing there looking defeated.

Sam frowned. "What?"

"That's his name," Dean looked down at his feet and sighed. "Eugene Stephan Braunstein, but his friends called him Genie."

The light suddenly clicked in Sam's head. "You know him?" he asked, shocked. "You know who the wraith is?"

Dean's head rose, the corner of his mouth twitched up and he nodded. "The first time Dad asked me to go solo," Dean said, eyes distant. "Thought I was facing a poltergeist, turned out it was just some psychic who was losing control of his powers." Dean ran a hand through his hair again. "Said I'd help the guy. Find someone who could help him get them under control. Lasted all of two days before he lost control in a fucking psycho sort of way."

Sam didn't know what to say. Dean had never mentioned any of this before. He tried not to feel angry over the fact that Dean had met a psychic before and hadn't told him anything about it, especially when his premonitions were coming true. Not that Sam considered himself a psychic, but still. But the way Dean was looking right now, pale and nervous and guilty, Sam guessed that the experience hadn't been pleasant.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

Dean's eyes focused and he stared at Sam for a moment, mouth open. But Dean closed his mouth and squared his jaw. The motion made Sam realize that he wasn't going to like the answer. Dean took a defensive posture, straightening his back and tilting his head as if he were daring Sam to ridicule him. And when he said what he had to say, Sam knew why he felt he had to do it like that.

"I killed him."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Confessions were something Sam had never liked. He liked knowing the truth, but to confess something meant that someone had been keeping it a secret. Someone had spent years keeping their thoughts locked away. Some had thought the truth to be so horrible that to say it out loud would be instant condemnation. And in most cases, that was true. In most cases when confessions were spat out under pressing circumstances, the truth was not something pretty. But this. Dean's confession. This was beyond not being pretty. This was beyond being ugly, grotesque, hideous. This was at a point that Sam didn't even know a word for. It was a sharp smack to his soul, to his heart, to his childhood and everything he'd believed to be true about his brother. This confession had Sam struggling to hold the pieces of his shattered image of his brother together.

"You killed him?" Sam whispered back, his voice soft, weak, innocent. Sam was suddenly five years old again. Please, Dean, please just get a band-aid and make this all better. This hurts too much.

Dean's chest puffed a little and he didn't smile as he said, "You hard of hearing?"

"You killed another human being?" Sam asked a little louder, eyes wide, watching Dean and pleading with him to say it wasn't so, to say that he did not just admit to something Sam had always held as his number one moral value in life. They were hunters, but they were not killers. "Another i living /i human being?" Sam reiterated.

No smart comment. No jibe, no deterrent, no denial. Just something simple. A simple statement like a knife in the back.

"Yeah."

The silence was almost deafening. Sam was distantly aware that they were still being stalked by the wraith, but part of him had already accepted that this monster was probably listening, probably letting this conversation happen, letting the truth come out. And though he should have cared that they were playing by the wraith's rules, he found that he didn't. He found that he didn't give a shit about the wraith he knew was watching. All he cared about was the man standing across from him, the brother standing so defiantly, the killer standing there confessing.

But how could Dean be a killer? How in God's name could Dean, the guy who would give up his life for someone else in a heartbeat, be a killer? Killers were supposed to be creepy lunatics who didn't care about anything but getting their jollies on while watching their victims die. That wasn't Dean. Was it? Dean had always been into the hunt. He'd always taken pleasure in putting a bullet into a ghoul, did he now find pleasure in putting a bullet into a person? Into a living, breathing, scared, confused person? Had his joy for the hunt transformed into something Sam had never thought possible?

"Look, Sammy, hate me later," Dean said, his eyes going to Cecily, who had made her way over to him and was now tugging on his jeans. He smiled down at her. "We have to get her out of here. We can talk morals in the car."

"How'd you kill him?" Sam asked, watching as Dean's confident posture faltered for a split second. But Dean straightened again.

"I put a bullet in his head," Dean said coldly, though his eyes were shining.

Sam shook his head. "Dean…"

"What do you want me to say?" Dean suddenly yelled, the anger in his voice surprising Sam slightly and making him flinch. Dean's eyes were blazing with such a strong intensity that Sam almost looked away. But he held his gaze. "Do you want to hear that it was an accident? Do you want to hear that I had no intention of killing him? Because I did!" Dean's voice rose another notch and Sam wondered if his brother wasn't just yelling at him, but yelling to be heard by what was watching them. "I did, Sammy, I aimed my .45 at his head and I pulled the fucking trigger. I killed him. I took someone else's life."

And the initial shock suddenly evaporated out of Sam's system as he heard his brother's voice break. Sam's eyes softened a little as Dean leaned down and picked up Cecily. The girl instantly laid her head against his chest. "I'm scared," she whispered.

Dean ran a hand over her hair and reached up to take the protection charm from around his neck. Sam had an instant of panic and betrayal course through him but when Dean put it around Cecily's neck, Sam fought back those thoughts. Dean had never taken that charm off. Sam had been the one to give it to him. "This will keep you safe," Dean whispered back to her, smiling warmly. She looked up at him with such wide, scared eyes, and clutched at his shirt for dear life. Her hero the killer. But there was something more to it, Sam could tell. He could tell by the way Dean's eyes were shining with tears that shouldn't be there. He could tell by the way his brother had brought up all his defenses and still Sam could see through them.

No, there had to be a reason why Dean would take another person's life. Look at him. Letting a little girl cling to him, shushing her and telling her everything will be all right, trying to keep everyone alive, trying to keep everyone happy, trying to keep everything from falling apart around him. Why? Why would he kill someone? And Sam needed to know the answer so badly that he voice the question out loud.

"Why?" Sam's said so softly. Pain flashed across Dean's face, but Sam was relentless. He needed to know. He needed to understand. This was Dean. He needed to be reminded.

Dean's eyes lingered on him a moment before they fell to Cecily, who sense he was looking at her and turned her eyes up towards him. A sad smile crossed his face. "It was either him or me and the five guys caught in the room with us." Dean's eyes came back up to meet Sam. "When a guy shatters all the windows and a thousand pieces of glass are flying through the air at a hundred miles an hour, you don't have much of a choice, Sammy." Dean's voice wasn't like anything Sam had heard before. There were no masks holding behind the raw emotion there and Sam knew that Dean only took down those masks, only let people in, when he needed reassurance, when he needed to be told that he did the right thing.

Since the beginning, since that first night his father had placed a gun in his hand and started to teach him the tricks of the trade of hunting, Sam had always enforced it within himself that human lives came first and foremost. The number one rules in Sam's Guide to Being Human: never take another human life. And Sam had lived by that rule for his entire life, on every hunt he'd ever been on. No ifs, ands, or buts. It was black and white, there was no gray, no amendments to be made.

Until now.

Until his brother stood in front of him with eyes so open, so clear, so genuinely lost that immediately the little Congressmen inside Sam's head started working to amend his personal constitution. And there was no question whether it would pass or not. Because, though Sam had never believed anything could possibly change his mind, there was no ignored rule number two of Sam's Guide to Being Human: Brothers, no matter what they do, will always be brothers. In order to appease rule number two, Sam was going to have to make some exceptions. And he was willing to do so. For Dean. Because his brother needed it. Because they both needed it.

But Sam wasn't able to tell Dean this as the air around them suddenly grew darker. Dean's eyes widened and he whispered a quick, "Shit," before he jerked his head back in the direction of the hall. Sam nodded and the two took off at a run simultaneously down the hall. Dean held Cecily to his side with one arm and had the shotgun ready with the other. Sam was carrying the duffel bag now, the journal still tucked into the back of his pants. He wished that he could suddenly harness whatever power lay inside his head and learn the entire Aramaic language in the next couple of seconds. Because both Sam and Dean knew that they weren't getting out of this one that easily.

As if to prove them right, Sam felt a force knock into him and the next thin he knew, he was flying sideways, through an open door. He heard Dean yell his name. Sam landed on his butt, leaning up against the wall, knocking over a shelf which spilled its contents onto the floor with a loud clatter. Sam shook his head slightly to clear it and then looked up. Dean was running towards him, but the door slammed shut in his face, leaving Sam alone inside the room. Sam felt his breathing hitch as Dean pounded on the door. This wasn't good.

Sam realized suddenly that the electricity was on. A single light bulb was hanging from the ceiling, casting a yellow glow around the room. It wasn't darker than it should have been. That was a good sign, right? Then, Sam noticed that this room wasn't just another office. His heart sped up as he saw runes and symbols drawn on all four walls and the door. Candles and pictures and journals lined the shelves. Just like in Jeremy's bedroom. "Not good," Sam whispered under his breath as he pushed himself up.

"Sammy!" Dean was screaming from the other side of the door. He sounded panicked. "I swear to God if you hurt him Genie I'll kill you again you stupid psychotic bitch!" Sam fought back the warmth he felt inside him at the words. Only in their family would those words mean so much. "Sam! Answer me!"

"Dean," Sam said, coming over to the door, but keeping his eyes on the room as if the wraith would pop out of one of the walls any minute. "I'm okay," he said loudly so his brother could hear him.

"Thank God," Sam heard Dean mutter something he was sure Cecily shouldn't be hearing. Then his brother spoke up again. "Can you open the door?"

Sam reached down to try and, as hard as he pushed, the door would not open. "No, it's stuck."

"Is he in there with you?"

"No, he's not here," Sam answered, looking around the room again, just to be sure. His eyes suddenly fell on one of the journals that lay open on a shelf. He walked over to it and frowned as he saw the bloody fingerprints on either side of it. But then his eyes widened as he realized what was written there. It was the counter verse in Aramaic. The one they needed for the exorcism. What the hell? Sam thought for sure this must be a trick. This was a dream. When he'd been thrown in the room, he had hit his head and now was dreaming. That had to be the answer. It couldn't possibly this easy. Why would the wraith throw him into a room that held its own destruction?

Sam heard Dean started to rattle the door again. "Stand back," he yelled from outside. "I'm gonna kick it in." Sam didn't say anything as he heard Dean shoot a handgun at the handle of the door and then try to kick it. He hardly noticed as Dean cursed loudly when the door didn't budge. Sam's eyes were on the runes on the walls. There was something different about them, something that wasn't right. He recognized them.

Then it hit him. It hit him so hard Sam nearly lost his breath. He dug the journal out and started flipping through the pages. He found what he was looking for and looked back up at the runes. His eyes went wide and he swore as he turned and went back to the door, hearing Dean still trying to kick it in with no avail. All of his previous doubt about his brother was immediately forgotten. Now he just wanted to get out of here.

"Dean!" Sam yelled.

"Hang on, Sammy!" Dean yelled back, thinking Sam was in trouble. Sam could hear the panic in his voice again.

"No, Dean, listen to me," Sam demanded and the kicking on the door stopped. "There are runes on the walls inside this room. They're the same as what are in Jeremy's journal."

"Is that where they brought him back?" Dean asked, sounding as if he were leaning against the door so he could hear him.

"Yeah, but that's not all," Sam answered but paused as he heard Cecily start to say something. He couldn't hear her soft voice through the door. "Dean?" Sam asked, worried now. This wasn't good. This definitely wasn't good. They needed to get this door open. Now.

"Sam?" Dean called back.

"Dean, the runes on the walls are protections runes," Sam said. Dean was quiet so Sam went on. "His journal says Jeremy tried to get rid of the spirit once they brought it back. They had to have come back to this room, but they couldn't have done that if the wraith could just come in and get them. I think this was their safe room. The wraith can't come in here."

There was silence for a minute and Sam's eyes frantically moved back and forth around the room. Finally, Dean spoke up. "What does that mean, Sam?" Dean asked slowly, but it was evident his brother already knew what that implied.

"He's not trying to keep me in, Dean," Sam said. "He's trying to keep you out."

On the other side of the door, Dean froze. His hands were flat against the door, his forehead centimeters away from touching the cool metal. His chest was heaving, out of breath from trying to get his brother out of the room. He'd wanted to get him out of there so badly. If Genie did anything to Sam, Dean didn't know what he'd do. There'd be hell to pay, that was for sure. Hell and a few other things. But now, all Dean wanted was for this door to stay shut. He didn't want it to move until this was over. Until either the wraith was dead or had moved on. Because as soon as Sam had told him the purpose of the closed door, that the main goal was to keep Dean out, a light had clicked on in Dean's head and a light had gone out in the hallway.

That, coupled with Cecily's incoherent cries that the man in the dark was angry, made Dean realize that this wasn't about Sam. The dreams, the confessions, the whole being dragged through a winery and then thrown into a room, it was never about Sam. The wraith wasn't after his little brother, he didn't want to kill the one good thing Dean had left in life. At least, not with his own hand.

Because as Dean's eyes turned to the side and his ears took in the sharp gasp and following shrill scream of terror escape from Cecily, he knew that this was, and always had been, about him. And not just his brutal and torturous death. Not just about Dean's blood being smeared on the walls and every sin he'd ever committed being paid back by a thousand lashes to his soul. Not just about taking Dean's life to avenge the one he killed. No, it was never about that. As the wispy black smoke hand settled on his arm, Dean became painfully aware that Genie had no intention of killing him. He had no intention of ending it all with one swift flick of his blade. Genie had other things in mind and as Dean's eyes rose to meet the dark billowy ones staring at him from behind the face he'd recognized at first glance, he caught sight of the entire plan, of the entire revenge, of the entire horrible, gut wrenching idea and all Dean wanted to do was put the handgun he'd thrown to the ground into his mouth and pull the trigger as many times as he could.

And Dean wished he could lock the door closed for all eternity. And he wished he could wipe his memory clean of Cecily and teleport her to a place he didn't know and be able to tell himself that he'd never heard the name Cecily Fiesher or Sam or John Winchester or Cassie or Carol or Missouri or every other person that had ever meant something to him in even the smallest of ways. Because as the wraith lifted it's hand and put it to Dean's face, as it pushed its presence into his head, into his soul, into his being, as it entered into him and he screamed with the pain of every wound he'd ever sustained, physically and mentally, Dean knew that everyone he cared about would die. And it wouldn't be at the hands of Genie. It would be Dean with the knife in his hand. It would be Dean with the malice in his eyes. It would be Dean with the blood on his clothes, on his skin, on his soul and when it was all over, Genie would leave and Dean would be surrounded by the corpses of his loved ones and know that he was the one who killed them. And then no gun in the world would be able to take away his pain.

Sam heard Cecily scream and his heart sped up. Sam heard Dean scream and his heart stopped. His mind started reeling and he began to pound his fists against the door, ignoring the pain in his fingers and the bloody marks he was leaving behind. No, no, no, no. Stop screaming. Everyone stop screaming. Dean stop screaming. Fight it. Fight him. You killed him before you better fucking kill him again you bastard. I don't care. I don't care if you kill a hundred people if it means you'll be safe, be alive, come back to me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I doubted you!

"Dean!" Sam screamed out loud, his own voice wavering as Dean's scream was suddenly cut off and he heard something hit the door forcefully and then fall to the ground. He heard his brother grunting and moaning and whimpering. "No! Dean!" Sam screamed again. Then it all went quiet and Sam felt tears sting at his eyes. No, what had it done to him? What had that fucking thing done to his brother? Please don't be dead.

Knowing there was nothing he could do to get the door open, Sam dashed back to the journal on the shelf and picked it up, looking at the counter verse while he fumbled with one hand to extract the holy water from the duffel bag. And as soon as he had both in his hands, the door swung open and Sam jumped, whirling around with wide eyes. And then Sam knew fear like he'd never known it before.

Dean stood just outside the doorway, Cecily in his arms, her small body squirming, tears staining her face pink. A knife was held to her throat, her quivering lower jaw making it leave small, thin cuts on her neck. Dean's cold, black eyes stared back at Sam and the smile on his face was foreign. This was a stranger. And when he spoke, it was Dean's voice, but it wasn't his brother.

"Can Sammy come out and play?"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Dean wasn't all that surprised to find that the inside of his head looked like a cheap motel room with all of his memories tacked and taped and stuck to the walls in a messy clutter. He'd always imagined it to be something like that. His would be messy and cheap, Sam's was probably some neat, filing system with everything labeled and pretty flowers. He had kind of hoped his mind would take on the form of the inside of the Impala, but really, where would all his memories go? There was only so much you could fit into a glove box. But as Dean sat cross legged on the bed, not really knowing how he'd gotten there, he realized this place wasn't so bad. It had a kitchenette and a bed with soft sheets and a window with drawn shutters and a door that led to his subconscious and a bathroom…wait, a bathroom? Was that a toilet flushing?

And the door to the bathroom swung open and Dean should have been surprised to see Genie standing in the doorway buttoning his pants, but he wasn't. The man didn't look too wraith-like right now. He looked how Dean remembered him. He wore a nice silk black shirt and jeans. That stupid vintage Batman watch was around his wrist. Genie had never taken it off, or at least that's what he'd told Dean. The man was tall, looming almost. He'd give Sam a run for his money. He was bald and hairless, but utterly harmless looking. Dean had always joked with him that he looked like a cancer patient, and Genie would always spit it back and say that Dean was one giant, walking, talking tumor. Crude jokes, but he guessed that's why they had gotten along so well. Until Dean shot him in the head.

"Foul," Genie yelled, making baseball referee movements with his hands. Dean watched in mild fascination. He hadn't really expected this friendly, joking treatment. He'd completely expected to be chained to a wall or some weird ass kinky stuff that Genie had been into. "You might want to light a candle if you go in there." Genie hiked a thumb towards the bathroom before closing the door behind him.

"You took a shit in my mind?" Dean asked, watching as Genie grinned and turned to look at some of the pictures and papers that represented all of Dean's memories tacked to the wall.

"If you didn't want the shit, you shouldn't have made the toilet," Genie answered. He moved along the wall, studying all the pictures before he suddenly straightened and clapped his hands together. "Oh look, here's me," he said with a cruel joyfulness to his voice. He reached up and plucked a picture off the wall. "Right between your acquired taste for garlic stuffed olives and the lyrics to Dead or Alive." Genie held up the picture. "I'm glad I hold such a special place in your heart."

Dean tried to say something, but the other man held up a hand and put the picture back on the wall. He pushed the tack in deeply, like he was making sure there was no way that picture was coming down, no way that memory would be forgotten. Then he turned around and walked over to where Dean still sat cross legged on the bed. He stood in front of him with his hands on his hips and looked down at him. "I don't want to hear any excuses, Dean," Genie spat, venom in his voice. "You did what you had to. I understand that. Really, I do." He reached forward and took Dean's face in his hands. Dean flinched but Genie didn't let go. "So I hope you'll understand that now I'm doing what I have to do."

"No, you don't have to do this," Dean pleaded. "Please, don't." He didn't like the way Genie's hands felt on his face. Everything else in the room, even himself, felt like a dream, felt like something he knew wasn't really there. But Genie's hands, they were really there, and they hurt. And Genie wasn't doing anything but touching him. "You were going to kill those people. I had to…"

"You didn't have to do shit!" Genie yelled and Dean flinched as the room darkened slightly. Genie laughed. "Oh Dean, I haven't even started," he said and suddenly pulled Dean forward, yanking him up and towards the window. Then he let him go and Dean had to resist the temptation to touch his face. He could still feel Genie's hands on him. It made him shiver. "You know, Dean, you're not a bad guy." Dean just frowned. Then why the hell was he doing this? "But you will be once I'm done with you."

And as Genie pulled back the blinds, Dean's eyes widened as he saw himself holding Cecily in his arms, a knife to her throat. He saw Sam staring at him with sad, horrified eyes. It was like watching a movie but he knew it was happening. Everything he saw out this window was happening right now, right as he was watching it. Dean's hands clenched into fists. No, he had to stop this.

"He's going to die," Genie whispered in Dean's ear. Dean froze, panic coursing through him for a moment. He looked at his brother outside the window. Sam looked so lost and confused and terrified. Oh God, Sammy. Just hang on, I'll beat this asshole and then we'll get out of here and everything will be okay. "You're going to kill him," Genie said. "And he'll cry out for you to stop. Oh Dean, Dean please don't kill me, please don't hurt me." Genie made his voice sound just like Sam's. "And you're not going to hesitate to slit his throat and stare into his eyes so the last thing he sees is your face telling him he's weak, he's not good enough, that you don't really love him."

And something inside Dean snapped at that. He gave an angry scream and turned, fists flying. No, he wouldn't hurt Sam, ever. He'd never do that to his baby brother. "No!" Dean found himself crying as he swung a fist at Genie's face. But Genie ducked his head back and in an instant he had a hand wrapped around Dean's throat and was squeezing. Dean choked and Genie screamed back at him before punching him across the face once, twice, a third time, and on the fourth he let Dean fall onto the bed, where he lay panting for breath, wondering how pain could feel so real if this was all just inside his head. How could that really be blood leaking from his nose, dripping from his brow?

Dean didn't have time to figure it out as Genie leapt on him, his hand around his throat again, pushing him onto his back and pinning him there, straddling his waist. Genie screamed in rage and Dean tried to draw in breath, but he was choking, being strangled. He tried to buck and kick Genie off, but the other man was just too heavy. "Hurts, doesn't it?" Genie hissed, bringing his face close to Dean's. Genie laughed as Dean brought up his hands to try and claw at his face, to try and pry his fingers from around his throat. It was a feeble attempt. "Even souls can bleed," Genie whispered, brushing a hand over Dean's head in a gesture Dean would have found extremely disturbing if he could focus on something other than the hand around his throat, closing his windpipes. "Mine's already bled out. Let's see how much yours can take."

Sam was paralyzed. It was as if he'd forgotten how to move, forgotten how to breathe, forgotten how to feel anything but utter terror throughout his entire body. Sam had dealt with possessions before. He'd taken part in numerous exorcisms to extract demons and spirits from people's bodies. But never, never in all the time that they'd been doing this, had he been forced to perform one on his brother. Never had he ever had to throw holy water onto Dean and watch his skin blister and boil and his face contort with a pain Sam didn't even begin to understand. He wasn't sure he could do it. But the knife that was held against Cecily's throat told him that he had no choice.

Finally able to tear his eyes away from the dead black ones staring at him with such malice, Sam uncorked the holy water and held it in his hand as he started to read the counter verse. He ignored Genie's taunting. He ignored Cecily's small sobs. Just get that thing out of Dean and this would all be over. Simple as that. But Genie wasn't going to make it that simple. When did they ever make it that simple?

"Are you going to turn your brother into a monster?" Genie said with Dean's voice. Sam tried to ignore him, tried to focus on the words. "Do you think he'll be able to deal with the guilt of knowing it was his hand who slit her throat?" And at Cecily's small cry, Sam couldn't help but look up and scream inside his head. But he throat wasn't slit. Dean, no, Genie was just holding her tighter. "Throw that book out here," he demanded. Sam looked down and read another passage. Genie growled. "You really want to watch her die?" And Cecily screamed so loudly that Sam's whole body tingled with horror. He looked up and saw a small trickle of blood running down Cecily's neck. God, he couldn't do this.

"No!" Sam yelled and closed the book. Genie smiled at him with Dean's face. "Okay, don't hurt her," Sam said and tossed the book into the hall. Genie looked down at it before violently kicking it away, out of Sam's sight. Well shit. "What do you want?" Sam demanded, not knowing what else to do. If only there was a way to reach Dean. Or get Cecily away from him so he didn't hold any leverage over Sam.

"Care for a sparring match, little brother?" Sam had to block out memories of the shapeshifter at Dean's words. The way he said them, the way he was looking at him. It was just like the shapeshifter. Just like the creature that had walked around with his brother's face. Sam thought that had been hard, but he would have preferred the shapeshifter over this. At least then it had just been a creature. A creature that Sam could hit and fight all he wanted without hurting his brother. But this, this was actually Dean. Whatever happened to this body happened to Dean.

"Don't talk to me like you're my brother," Sam spat lowly, trying to not let the fear seep into his voice.

Genie laughed and took the knife away from Cecily's throat to point it at Sam. "But I am your brother," he said. "I am Dean Winchester. I've lived through fires, ghosts, ghouls and even my own stupidity induced electrocution. I've killed demons, wolves, zombies and two years ago I looked a man in the eye and told him that I was the only person he could trust and two days later I shot him between the eyes."

Sam felt anger grow within him. Stop talking about Dean like his whole life is summed up by the things he's killed or have tried to kill him. There's more to him than that. "He did it to protect the other people in the room…"

"Is that what he told you?" Genie laughed. "That my murder was a selfless act of heroism?" He shook his head. "Your brother's full of it. He's a goddamn liar and I'm going to show the world what a monster he really is." Genie lifted Cecily up a little higher, his face near her neck. "Do you think your brother will enjoy being a pedophile?"

"No!" Sam let out before he could stop himself. He took a few steps forward, but stopped himself before he stepped through the doorway. Sam's mind was racing, bursts of panic keeping him from coming up with any real plan. God, what would Dean do if this were the other way around? He'd knock your ass out and perform the exorcism and feel guilty about it later.

"I like you, Sam," Genie said suddenly and Sam's attention was back on the monster invading his brother's body. "We have a lot in common." Sam frowned. What the hell was that supposed to mean? "So I'm going to give you the opportunity to end this." And with that, Genie reached out a foot and kicked Dean's discarded handgun through the doorway. Sam stared down at it. "I'm giving you the chance to save your brother from this, Sam."

The dream. This was the dream. The nightmare. Sam eyed the offending weapon with hatred. Could he really? Could he really pick up that gun, aim it at his brother's head, and pull the trigger? He knew the answer almost immediately, but leaned down to pick up the gun anyway. He looked at Dean. Not at the monster inside of him, but at Dean, at his brother, at the one person who had been there whenever he needed him. The one person who continuously pulled him away from danger, pulled him to safety. Sam's hand shook as he held the gun up and aimed. Could he really be doing this? Was he about to pull the trigger on his own brother?

"No, Sam!" Cecily's voice broke into the tense silence and Sam glanced at her. Wide eyes stared back at him, pleading. Oh God, she still trusted him. She still trusted Dean. Sam felt tears sting at his eyes. Sam looked back at Dean, whose dark eyes were shining, grin still spread wide, face still foreign yet oh so familiar. No, he couldn't. He couldn't do it. Because deep down, Sam still trusted Dean as well. Dean was still in there, behind those dark eyes, and Sam knew he was fighting. Sam grit his teeth suddenly, fury rising up in him. What the hell was he supposed to do? Why the hell was this happening? And when the fury came to a boil, Sam dropped his arm and let the gun slide from his grasp. He'd never taken a human life before and he was not about to start with his brother.

"I once had values too," Genie said softly. Sam watched as Dean's body relaxed slowly. Genie looked down at Cecily in his arms. He was quiet for a minute before he suddenly let go of the little girl. She fell to her knees but was up in an instant and running towards Sam. He was surprised that Genie actually allowed her to make it inside the room. Cecily clung to his legs, but he didn't look down at her, he watched Genie, wondering what he was up to. Why would he give up his only leverage? "I guess I'll hold on to one and let her live."

"Genie," Sam tried. "You can hold on to a lot more. You don't have to do this."

Genie snorted. "That's the same thing your brother's saying." Sam's heart stopped. Oh Dean, please keep fighting. "I know he feels guilty. But he hasn't begun to feel guilt," Genie spat. He was suddenly rolling up his sleeve and Sam tensed a little. No, what was he doing? Don't do that. Don't you dare do that you son of a bitch. "I need to kill you, Sam. So are you ready to come out and play?"

Sam watched as Genie brought the knife to Dean's exposed wrist. Oh God. Sam was an idiot. Of course he still had leverage. He'd always have leverage as long as he had Dean. "Please…" Sam started, but apparently, Genie was done playing games because he sunk the knife into Dean's skin, dark, deep red blood instantly seeping out.

Sam was moving before he could stop himself.

Genie pulled Dean up from the bed and forced him back to the window, holding his head in a firm grip, making him look out at the scene unfolding before them. Dean's breath was shaky as he saw what was going on. No, Sammy, why did you leave that room?

Dean watched, helpless to do anything, as his brother dashed from the doorway towards him. He noticed the knife pressing down into his body's wrist. Dean glanced down at his own and was surprised to see a real cut forming there. And almost instantly the pain that accompanied it made itself known. Dean cringed, but looked back up to see how his brother was faring. Sam had managed to wrestle the knife away and it now lay discarded on the ground. But that's about all Sam managed to accomplish before Genie landed the first punch that sent his little brother flying back into the wall. Sam looked dazed.

"Watch out!" Dean screamed from his position behind the window. "Sammy, block!"

And Sam brought his arm up at the last minute in answer to the backhanded fist he was about to get across the face. Sam ducked and moved away from the wall, taking a fighting stance but barely able to do anything as Genie came at him, using every fighting move he and Dean knew combined. Sam was trying to counter as best he could, but it was clear Genie had the upper hand.

"Stop!" Dean yelled and turned to look at Genie. "Fight me you mother fucker!" he screamed. Genie, who was sitting down on the bed, looking amused, glanced over at him but didn't say anything. "Leave him out of this!"

"Oh, here comes a good part," Genie said and Dean whipped his head back towards the window. His eyes widened as he watched Genie grab Sam's arm and use his own momentum to slam him against the wall. Genie got a handful of Sam's hair and slammed his head into the wall three times before letting go and watching Sam slump to the ground, fighting to stay conscious.

Dean felt his stomach tie itself into knots. He clenched his fists and screamed, "Sammy, get up! Kick my ass, dammit, fight back!" He ignored Genie's laughter from the bed behind him. He watched as Genie went to kick Sam in the face and gave an excited yell as Sam caught Genie's leg and pulled, bringing the other man to the ground harshly. But as soon as Dean saw his body's head hit the cement floor, pain exploded in the back of his own head and he winced, unable to keep from falling to his knees. "Son of a…" Dean muttered, shaking his head to clear the stars. He could feel hot, sticky blood running down the back of his neck.

Genie came forward then and pulled Dean back to his feet. "You don't want to miss this," he said and Dean forced his vision clear just in time to see Genie's hand wrap around the hilt of a knife and swipe it backwards, across Sam's cheek. He watched his brother grunt and scramble away, a hand instantly going to his face, blood already dripping between his fingers. "It's a good look on him," Genie said conversationally. "I think we'll add a nice slash right across that pretty throat of his, how does that sound?"

"Fuck you," Dean spat out and took another swing at Genie who just laughed and moved out of the way. He grabbed Dean's shirt and shoved him up against the window, forcing his head into the glass painfully.

"I'm having fun with him," Genie said harshly. "Are you ready to watch your brother die?"

And if souls could bleed, then they could cry. And Dean had never felt such tears.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

It had always been an odd feeling for Sam when, sometimes while sparring with his brother, he'd be so engrossed in the routine, in the style, in the adrenaline and the moment, that somewhere along the line he would forget to breathe. It happened a lot once Sam hit fourteen. He'd train with his brother, listening to John call out moves from the side, punching and kicking in a mixture of fighting styles that had to be unique to their family. A mismatch of just about everything. But never all of one thing. And Sam would be so engrossed listening to John's voice, listening to Dean's grunts and quiet calls of warnings, watching his brother's muscles twitch and anticipating the block or the hit, that he would simply be focusing too much on the fight for his mind to remember to breathe. He'd found out about this quirk when in the middle of a sparring match with Dean, he'd simply passed out mid-fight and face planted into a doorknob. Dean had been simply beside himself with horror that it had taken him nearly four weeks to agree to train with his brother again.

After that, John had spent weeks engraining into his sons when to breathe. Out when you punch, in when you block. Out when you kick, in when you duck. Even then, Sam would sometimes hear his father call out a reminder to breathe as he was training with his brother. And after a while, Sam stopped needing his father to remind him. He stopped needing to repeat his breathing mantra in his head while he fought. His body had learned to do it on its own again, making breathing and fighting just another internal mechanism, as it should have been. He hadn't had a problem with it again.

Until the moment the wraith possessing his brother's body slashed a knife across his cheek and he realized his lungs had been empty as he sucked in a gasp. He'd scrambled backwards, sucking in air and spitting it back out again as if he'd just discovered the joy of breathing. And the two of them stayed like that for a moment. Sam, back on his haunches, a hand over his cheek, reminding himself how to breath. And Dean, blood dripping from a shallow cut on the back of his head below his right ear, a stranger's grin on his face, and the offending knife clutched in his hand, ready to strike again.

Sam could already feel his face starting to swell from where Genie had smashed it up against the wall. And along with the throbbing pain in his brow came the understanding that he was on his own with this one. Sure, Dean was still in there somewhere, Genie had said as much, but if Dean had any control, whatsoever, Sam's eye wouldn't be threatening to swell shut and Sam knew it. He wondered if his brother even knew what was happening. Did Dean even know what was going on? Or was Genie torturing him inside his own mind? Sam felt a fury rise up in him at the thought.

"Caught your breath?" Genie asked and Sam snapped back to reality. He stared at Genie in Dean's body and jutted his jaw a bit more. "Or do we need another time out?" The grin that followed just made Sam all the more angry. Dean's face was not supposed to look like that. Not when those eyes were on him.

"You keep calling my brother a monster," Sam said through clenched teeth, tensing his muscles as Genie shifted his weight. He had to be ready, Dean was quick and with a psychic wraith inside his head, he was nearing on godly. But he could still bleed. Sam hoped Dean would forgive him for a few cuts and bruises. "But you're only making yourself into one by doing this, Genie."

"Don't talk monsters with me," Genie spat, the anger that flashed in those black eyes startling Sam. "You haven't seen the things I've seen." Then he smiled coyly, bringing the knife he'd used to slice Sam's cheek to his lips. Sam resisted the urge to shiver as he ran his tongue along the blade. Sick man. Get out of my brother's body. "Hell's got a special place for people like your brother."

Sam growled and leapt forward. Genie rose quickly to meet him, bringing the knife up. Sam sidestepped it and surprised himself when he landed a backhanded blow across Dean's face, drawing a trickle of blood from his brother's nose. And that moment of surprise cost Sam as Genie used it to his advantage and swiped out with the knife again, cutting a shallow line across Sam's chest. Sam sucked in a breath and in his moment of pain, Genie leaned forward and grabbed the side of Sam's face. He pulled Sam in, laid a teasing kiss on his forehead and the pushed him away again.

"Remember when I used to kiss your head goodnight?" Genie asked, the grin on his face malicious.

"Shut up!" Sam yelled and kicked forward, catching Genie in the knee. But Genie brought the knife up and just barely missed taking out one of Sam's eyes. Sam gasped and leapt backwards, but Genie was relentless and Sam tried his best to hit away the attacks that he could. Some got too close and sliced at Sam's arms, but finally Sam got up enough strength to grab Dean's wrist and jerk it to the side. The two struggled their, a battle of strengths for a moment, before Sam finally squeezed Dean's wrist hard enough for the knife to fall loosely to the floor. But he was rewarded only with a swift hit across his bloodied cheek, to which he stumbled backwards and received a punch to the gut that doubled him over.

Dean's fingers wrapped into his hair again and Sam grit his teeth as he was spun and one of Dean's arms came and wrapped around his throat, holding him in a chokehold despite the awkwardness of the height difference. Sam choked and spluttered, Dean's arm closing his windpipe. He was briefly annoyed that he found himself being choked yet again by someone with his brother's face.

Dean's mouth came to Sam's ear and as he whispered, Sam flinched as he felt the hot breath on his neck. "Well Sammy, it's been fun." Sam cried out as Dean squeezed tighter on his throat and pulled back on his hair. "Say hello to that pretty girlfriend of yours."

And suddenly, Sam was being hurled through the air. He barely had time to figure out what was going on, why he wasn't getting his neck snapped or throat slit, before he found himself colliding with a desk in one of the abandoned offices Genie had tossed him into. Sam hit it on his left side, hearing the snap in his arm before he actually felt the pain, and rolling over it to land on the floor against the wall, where he lay, unsure whether he wanted to stay awake or give into the blackness dancing at the edges of his vision.

Sam didn't remember yelling, but the echo in the room and the hoarseness of his voice gave him away. He lay on his side, eyes shut tightly. Damn, that hurt. He'd had broken bones before, but shit. Arms were always the worse, especially when he opened his eyes and saw the protruding white-yellow bone sticking out of a bloody hole in his skin. Oh that was always fun. It would be cool looking if it didn't make tiny dots flash in front of his eyes. And as Sam stared at his broken arm as it lay awkwardly out in front of him, he realized that it wasn't the only thing that hurt. Damn, his entire body hurt. His ribs were going to kill him in the morning, if Genie didn't kill him tonight. And hell, his head hurt worse than it had a few minutes ago. How many goose eggs could a person have before they started looking like Quasimodo? Great, now he was thinking like Dean. He wondered if this was a concussion bringing all these thoughts? Probably.

"Sammy, you alive?" Genie called from the doorway and Sam almost called out a sarcastic, "no," but held himself back. He grunted and groaned and tried to push himself up from the floor, but his body was protesting so badly, he just fell right back down. Well shit. Sam heard the desk groan and he moved his eyes to look up and see that Genie was laying on it, looking down at him with a smile. "Well look at you," Genie grinned and swung his legs off the desk. He hopped down and rolled Sam onto his back. Sam couldn't help the cry that escaped him. "Resilient little pest, aren't you?" Sam fought back a wave of nausea that coursed through him as Genie patted his head. "Goodnight, Sam." And Sam's chest constricted as he watched his brother, with Genie inside of him, raise a knife up above his head and get ready to bring it down on Sam's chest.

"Dean…" Sam croaked out, one last plea. There was so much he wanted to say to his brother. Don't blame yourself. Kill this bastard for me. Find Dad. Kill the thing that killed Mom and Jess. Don't miss me too much. But above all, just know, that I love you.

Sam's plea didn't go on deaf ears.

He wasn't sure how, but Dean found himself standing on the edge of the white river again. He tensed for a second. Moments before, he'd been watching the fight going on between Genie and his brother. Moments before, Genie had Dean trapped inside his head, held down by chains, stripped of his pride, his confidence, his façade of strength. Moments before, Dean was preparing to have his heart ripped out.

But now, there was just the white river. The same shapeless, pearly river. Flowing as beautiful as ever, straight and endless and enchanting. Here, by this river, Sam wasn't dying. Dean wasn't trapped. And the world wasn't shit. Dean liked it by this river. He wished he could stay here for all time.

"Dean?" He turned slowly at the sound of his name, his mind already succumbing to this place, already forgetting about Sam, broken and bleeding on the floor. Forgetting about Genie, screaming and searching for him. Forgetting about emotions and feelings and senses. And as she said his name, he forgot that too. She came to stand next to him. "We need to go." He only stared at her.

_I'm lost again._ He knew it to be true. Everything and nothing told him it was true. Everything and nothing told him it was the only truth he would ever know.

"He's coming," she said and she took his hand. "Please. I need you to remember."

_I don't remember. I can't. How am I supposed to? _

She was running now, with his hand still in hers. And she pulled him away from the white river. And he knew he'd never see it again. And there were tears on his face that he would never remember crying.

"You have to remember something!" she yelled back at him as she kept pulling him along. He could feel something behind him. Something screaming at him to stop. But he couldn't stop with her holding his hand. "Just one memory. All you need is one!"

_I don't have one._ But even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. Everything and nothing told him it was a lie. Everything and nothing told him it would always be a lie.

"Please!" She screamed, scared now. He couldn't remember why to be afraid. "Sam needs you!"

_Sam._ He knew that word. A name. It wasn't his own, but it very well could have been. He knew it more than his own_. Sam. Again, say it again. Sam. Sam, Sam, Sam._ And then he stopped running and she screamed and pulled at his hand and he shook his head. _I can't run yet._

"You have to!" She screamed. "He's almost here."

And he held out his arms and knew they were empty_. Sam. Sam. Outside. Brother. Go. I know these words. I know that voice. I remember._

And suddenly Dean was inside his house. There was screaming and there was heat and smoke. He was crying. Where's Daddy? Where's Mommy? He ran into the hall. "Dean!" Daddy! Daddy came running into the hall with baby Sammy in his arms. He leaned down and placed Sammy into Dean's arms, still outstretched. "Dean, take your brother outside." But… "Go, Dean, now!" Okay, Daddy. Okay.

And he held Sam and he ran outside and he kept running with Sam in his arms until he couldn't run anymore. He stopped and turned around. Daddy was standing there, looking at him. He was crying. Was this part of the memory? "Daddy?" his voice was so young.

"Dean, your mother's gone."

"Where did she go?"

"She's gone to Heaven, Sport."

"Can we go there too?"

"Someday."

"She's not coming back?"

"No."

"Something bad happened."

"Yes, it did. But I swear to you, Dean. I'm going to find out what happened. I going to find what did this. But I need you to do me a favor."

"What, Daddy?"

"I need you to take care of Sammy. No matter what. Always look after your brother."

"Even when I'm sleeping?"

"Even when you're sleeping."

"Okay, Daddy."

"That's my boy. You have to go now, Dean."

What? Why? No, Daddy, I don't want to go! But Daddy was already standing, already leaving, already walking, already fading. Daddy didn't even turn around. Daddy didn't even say goodbye. And in Dean's arms, there was a missing Sammy. He had to find Sammy. He promised. He had to take care of him, no matter what, even when he was sleeping.

And as Dean turned and walked back the way he had come, he passed by a motel room. He could see a bald, hairless man with an angry face looking out the window at him. The man was yelling, pointing, threatening.

And Dean threw a rock at the window and his whole world shattered.

Sam closed his eyes. He didn't want to see his brother's face when he felt that knife plunge into his chest. He didn't want to see the malicious black orbs that had so cruelly taken over the clear, hazel eyes of his brother. He didn't want to see that grin that was so his brother but at the same time not even a shadow of the Dean he knew. And Sam couldn't help the tears that slipped out. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They had so much more to do. Sam had so much more to do. Had he really failed this horribly?

Genie screamed and Sam tensed. He heard the sound of the knife plunging into flesh, deeply in, a squishy, tearing sound. He waited for the pain he knew was coming. He waited to feel that burning sting followed by the deathly chill as he bled out. That's how they said it happened. When you bleed out, when you die, it's cold. It's always cold. Sam didn't know whether to believe that. All his memories of death were filled with fire and smoke. How could death be cold?

But the pain never came. Sam slowly opened one eye, seeing Dean's face still looking down at him, looking relaxed. And then he shot the other eye open, staring up at his brother as he realized that something wasn't right. The black eyes were looking at him with something akin to shock.

"H…how..?" Genie stuttered and Sam frowned. Then Genie looked away and Sam realized he wasn't talking to him. He followed Genie's eyes and Sam's face drained of all the color that was left. He knew why he'd felt no pain from the stab wound.

He had never been stabbed.

Dean's knife, his precious knife with the eight inch silver blade, was buried hilt deep in Dean's side. Blood was already soaking Dean's shirt, already soaking his pants, already dripping down onto the floor. Sam stared in horror at the amount of blood. Dean staggered to his feet, his hands still wrapped around the hilt of the knife. His entire body was shaking, shivering, his lips trembling. Those black eyes came back up to look at him. The two stared at each other for a moment and Sam was unsure how he knew, but he saw fear in those black eyes. Fear and pain. How was that possible?

And then Dean's body leaned up against the wall and slide to the ground with a jolt. Sam pushed himself the little that he could. He ignored the pain in his arm. Dean's hand came away from the hilt and Sam took in a sharp gasp as he saw it was coated with thick red blood. Then, Genie spoke. "I wasn't done with this body yet." The words were soft, sad, regretful.

Panic overtook Sam as Dean's body tilted to the side at the same time a black cloud seemed to withdraw itself from his skin. For a moment, Sam thought he would have to fight Genie again, but in the air, the smoke was crackling with spasms. It wasn't anything near to the smoothness, the power of how it had been before.

"Sam!" He turned at his name and saw Cecily in the doorway. She held Jeremy's journal in one hand and the holy water in the other. She ran over to him and handed him the book. Then, she took the holy water and stood in front of him. "We're not afraid of you anymore, stupid!" she yelled and threw the holy water at the smoke. Immediately, the room was filled with a scream. Cecily covered her ears, her own scream adding to the noise. Sam seemed to snap out of his shocked stupor and started to read the counter verse, to perform the exorcism. The screaming was tearing at his ear drums, but Sam wasn't hearing it. He concentrated on the counter verse. It took him only a few seconds to read the entire thing and when he was done, he looked up and saw Genie manifest himself once more.

Sam threw the journal to the side and leaned forward, wrapping his arm around Cecily and pulling her back. She put her head on his shoulder, but neither of them could look away as Genie seemed to relive his original death. Sam watched Genie arch his back and open his mouth for soundless screams. He watched him turn his head to the side, stare at something with endless, begging eyes. And then a real scream. And then Genie's head jerked to the side, exploding in black smoke. Sam jerked and felt Cecily do the same. The black smoke gave one last horrendous scream before imploding on itself and disappearing with a loud pop.

The room was too quiet after that. Too quiet as Sam scurried to his brother, crying before he even knew if Dean was still alive. Too quiet as Cecily told Sam she could go get help. Too quiet as Sam didn't even realize Cecily had left. Too quiet as Sam put his forehead against his brother's and prayed for him to wake up, prayed for him to keep breathing, prayed for him to hold on until the ambulance came.

The room was too quiet when Dean didn't answer.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"_Norman Bates," Dean declared as he slammed down his beer bottle on the counter. He turned sideways with a cocky grin. "Creepiest movie monster, hands down." A half drunken swoosh of the hand conveyed that there could be no further arguing. But apparently his authority didn't take precedence over this man. Dean should have known better. Genie could be more defiant than a thirteen year old Sammy. Dean would pay money to see those two go at it. The two most stubborn people on the planet. It'd probably end in bloodshed. _

"_Bates?" Genie squawked, taking a swig of his beer before holding up two fingers, signaling for another. "Bates doesn't count." He told Dean with a smug look. _

_Dean huffed. "Who says?" _

_Genie threw his hands up. "He wasn't even a monster, lame ass. He was just a dude who went psycho, thus the name of the movie." _

_With a snort, Dean accepted another beer after finishing his off. Damn Genie could hold his liquor. Dean was starting to get blurry eyed around the edges. But damn it all if he was going to let himself be beat. "Says you," he mumbled. "That was a possession if I've ever seen one." He cracked open a peanut and popped one in his mouth. "Suck to be possessed by an old lady." _

"_What? You prefer little girls?" Genie joked, bringing a hand up and messing with Dean's hair. "You'd look cute with ribbons in your hair." Dean slapped his hand away, annoyed and Genie just laughed. "Besides, possessions don't classify as monsters." _

_Dean narrowed his eyes. "Whose making these rules?" _

"_Society," Genie rolled his eyes and turned his beer up again. "And that still doesn't change the fact that Norman Bates was a psycho, not possessed." Genie fake punched Dean's shoulder. "And you call yourself an expert." _

"_Shut up," Dean gruffed, spinning in his chair and looking out at the other patrons of the bar. "Whatever, he still killed all those chicks and that makes him a monster in my book." Dean glanced at Genie. "What do you think is the creepiest? And Barney doesn't count, though he is creepy." _

_Dean laughed as that earned him another fake punch. But then a mellow undertone took over the air between them. He glanced over at Genie and saw the man's eyes had gone distant. For a second, Dean thought about changing the subject, but then Genie spoke up. _

"_Carrie." _

"_Dude, how come you get to call Carrie and I don't get Norman Bates?" Dean asked. _

"_Bates was psychotic," Genie started in a hushed tone. _

"_So was Carrie," Dean countered. _

"_No," Genie shook his head. "She wasn't. She had a power, such strong power, and she used it. She used it to hurt people, to kill them. She's the worse kind of monster." _

"_Dude," Dean started, realizing Genie was talking on a more personal level now. "Carrie was messed up. Bad stuff happened and she didn't have anyone on her side. She's nothing like you." _

_Genie turned to look at him. The two were quiet for a minute. Then Genie went on. "You fight monsters every day," Genie whispered. "Are you ever afraid you'll become one?" _

_More silence, but Genie heard the answer loud and clear. Dean had practically screamed it inside his head. And that's all they needed for the conversation to end. For Dean to admit what Genie had feared. _

"_Every day." _

He could smell French Vanilla coffee. Two sugars. A dash of half and half. It was Sam's drink.

Waking was slow, but he used the familiar aroma to anchor himself into the world of the living. The rest of his senses filtered in after that. The quiet sounds of a hushed television turned to some soap opera. He was laying in a bed and there was something heavy and itchy on his side. Something was poked into his finger and something else was poked into his forearm. He knew they should have been sore, but there wasn't really any pain. In fact, other than the pressure, he couldn't feel much of anything. And there was a beeping somewhere.

Hospital. Great.

Opening his eyes was a task that nearly sent him back into the oblivion he had just crawled out of. The room spun and tilted and danced in front of him. His stomach lurched and his throat was suddenly too dry. Screw this. The waking world could wait.

"Dean?" Was that Sam? Well crap, what was he supposed to do now? He couldn't let Sam get all worked up over an eye flutter. The poor kid would probably have a hernia if he didn't answer. A hand found its way to his forehead. It was soft and warm and urged Dean to come back. Well dammit, he'd have to wake up now. He wouldn't allow the touchy feely while he couldn't defend himself. "Dean?" Sam's voice was more persistent this time.

"I think he's fallen back asleep." Now who the hell was that? An image of Genie suddenly flashed before his eyes and Dean couldn't help the violent flinch that took control of his body. Oh God, was that Genie? Was Genie out there with Sam? You get the hell away from my brother you fucking bastard.

"Whoa, whoa," Sam's voice sounded again and Dean felt panic course through him. No, no, Genie was doing something to Sam. He had to wake up. He had to fight. Sam needed him. "Dean, hey, calm down." Calm down? Calm down! There's no calming down from this one, Sammy. Genie's gonna kill you. He's gonna use me to kill you. I have to get you out of here, I have to get you away from him, away from me. Oh God I can't hurt you.

"His heart rate is elevating." Who the fuck was that? Sammy, whose out there with you? "We need to put him under again." Under? Under where?

"No!" Sam? What's going on? Sammy why do you sound so scared? He better not be hurting you. "Don't you think he's been asleep enough?" The hand on his forehead moved and for a moment Dean wanted to cry out, but it was suddenly back and this time the thumb was stroking his forehead.

"Mr. Burkovitz, we need to keep him calm, if he pulls out his stitches…"

"I can keep him calm," Sam's voice was confident. "Dean, it's me, it's Sam." No shit. Let's get you a medal, genius. "It's okay, Dean, it's over. You're fine." Me? I'm not worried about me you idiot. I'm not the one I was trying to kill…was I? "Dean, please." Dammit Sam, you know I can't resist it when you say please.

The panic began to subside. Sam's hand on his forehead and the quiet whisperings that he couldn't quite make out over some background hustle and bustle. Someone was shuffling papers. His blanket was removed and he was suddenly cold and exposed. Someone put a hand to his side and pain flared up, making him tense up. But Sam just rubbed his forehead and spoke a little louder and Dean didn't panic. But only because Sam asked him not to.

"Everything's still in place." All right, whoever you are, if everything's still in place give me my damn blanket back. It's freaking cold in here. "We'll have to keep checking every hour. If he wakes up, keep him still. If he rips open his stitches, we'll have to put him under again and we'll keep him under a lot longer than we did this time."

"Okay." Sam's voice sounded so small. "Thanks, doctor." A door closed somewhere. "Asshole," Sam muttered under his breath. Dean would have chuckled if his body was listening to him. He was waking up more, becoming more and more aware of his surroundings, and more importantly, of himself. Things felt weird, more than just the odd feeling of being doped up. He couldn't explain it. He hurt, but it was an ache he couldn't place. "Dean?" Give a guy a minute, Sam.

Pushing the last edges of darkness away, Dean groaned before he forced his eyes open. Things were still blurry and tilting and spinning, but he blinked and blinked until the world seemed to focus itself. And the first thing he saw was Sam's face, looking down on him. And Dean wished he could go back to sleep again. Sam looked like shit. He had a black eye and an assortment of bruises mottled his face and forehead and chin. He had a split lip and a cut across one of his cheeks. And Dean could remember giving him every single one of those injuries.

"You with me, Dean?" Sam asked, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Dean hated those eyes. They just screamed out for someone to give this puppy a hug. And to hell if he'd be the one. If he thought opening his eyes was a task, trying to speak seemed nearly impossible. His throat was dry, raw. His lips felt swollen. So he settled for a nod instead and even that sent his head spinning again. "Hey," Sam said with a relieved smile that seemed to light up his entire face. "It's about time."

Dean licked his lips. Damn he needed a drink. "H…how…"

"Four days," Sam answered, instantly knowing what his brother was trying to ask. "They wanted to make sure you didn't rip out your stitches. You were in surgery for six hours. They were doing everything the could for you." Sammy, you're rambling. "But you'd lost so much blood and you just kept bleeding and there were a couple times where you stopped breathing and…" Dean's hand found it's way to Sam's, which had fallen onto the bed. Sam stopped once he realized what he was doing. He gave a small, nervous laugh before shaking his head. "Sorry."

Dean took another good look at his brother. Sam's left arm was in a cast. He could see bruises along his brother's collar bone and around his neck. Some were already fading. Dean moved his hand towards the cast and laid his fingers on it gently. Sam glanced down at them before looking straight back at Dean. "Sam…" Dean croaked out.

"No," Sam cut him off and Dean frowned at him. "It wasn't your fault." Dean couldn't help the tears glistening in his eyes. "None of this was your fault, Dean. None of it." Sam leaned forward when Dean looked away. He put a hand on his shoulder. "Not even Genie."

He hadn't been expecting that. He turned to look at his little brother again. "I killed him, Sam," he said quietly, his voice foreign still, scratchy.

Sam shook his head. "Because you had to. You saved lives." Sam paused as Dean turned his head, wincing at the movement. He squeezed his shoulder until the pain subsided. "I know I gave you shit, Dean, but…you did something I'd never be able to do. And you're alive because of it. I could never hold that against you." Dean turned back to look at him. Sam suddenly smiled. "But I think we should have a talk about the kind of people you're hanging out with, tiger." It took a moment but Dean's smile spread slowly across his face. "And if you ever do anything like this again," Sam pointed to Dean's waist. "I'll kill you myself."

Dean chuckled but instantly the chuckle turned into a grimace and he moved a hand to his side. Sam, still smiling, patted his shoulder, telling him to stay down. "Ow," Dean whispered, but his eyes were still shining from Sam's compliment.

Sam nodded and took his hand, even when Dean gave him that look that said to stow it. He ignored him. "Seriously," Sam said, his face growing somber. "Thank you."

"For what?' Dean croaked.

"For this," Sam nodded towards Dean's torso. "And for not dying."

Dean snorted. "Couldn't leave my car." Sam chuckled. "You'd go crashing her through walls again."

"I do it one time and you don't let me live it down," Sam countered playfully. Dean just smiled, his eyes dipping closed for a second. Sam squeezed his hand. "Get some sleep, Dean. Even though you've been sleeping for four days."

Dean didn't answer and for a moment, Sam thought he'd listened to him. But then Dean's quiet voice made Sam still. "I can still feel him." Sam frowned, scooting forward. "I don't…I don't know how to explain it. I can feel him everywhere." Sam was about to answer, was about to tell Dean that he knew what it felt like. That he remembered what it felt like after Ellicott was done with his brain. He knew it felt like the worse kind of violation. Ellicott's presence everywhere, on every memory, leaving his fingerprints on everything. And Ellicott had just scanned. He couldn't image what Dean felt. To feel like his mind had been stretched and shared and beaten and mangled. It would take a while to put back the pieces. And Sam was about to tell him this.

But the door to the room opened and both brothers turned to see who the newcomer was. Sam smiled when Cecily poked her head into the room and grinned when she saw Dean was awake. She ran in after that and bounded up onto Sam's lap, surprising the younger Winchester. But Sam put a steadying hand on her anyway.

"Cecily," Carol's voice reprimanded from the doorway. Sam smiled at her to tell her it was no trouble.

"Hi Dean," Cecily said, her happiness faltering a moment as she looked Dean up and down. "Are you all better?"

"Getting there," Dean said weakly, his eyes growing heavy.

Sam saw this and leaned forward, his good hand still around Cecily's waist. "Dean's pretty tired," he told her. "I think maybe we should let him sleep."

"Okay," Cecily nodded. She leaned forward and kissed Dean's forehead, making Dean blush and Sam chuckle a bit. "I just wanted to tell you that I don't think you're a monster." Dean seemed to freeze at that and Sam held his breath. "The man in the dark said that you were, but I never believed him. You fight monsters. You're a hero. You saved me, just like I asked."

"Oh I didn't do much," Dean whispered with a smile. "Sam did most of it. I'm no hero."

Sam frowned at that. He could tell it was going to take a while for his brother to recover from this one. It would take them both a while.

"Yes you are," Cecily insisted. "I asked you to come and you came. That's what a hero does. So you're a hero." Dean's eyes started watering and Sam looked back at Carol. She smiled and came forward.

"All right, Cecily," she said and reached her hands out for her daughter. "It's time we let them sleep. We'll come back tomorrow and say hi."

"Wait," Cecily said and reached into her pocket. She pulled something out and held it out for Dean. "This is for you. It's my favorite thing in the world and I want you to have it." Dean's hand rose weakly to accept it. It was a package of grape bubble gum. "Do you like it?"

Dean stared at the gum for a moment and Sam wondered what his brother would say. He'd made such a fuss about how much he hated grape gum in the car, when he'd been channeling some of Cecily's senses and thoughts. Sam wasn't sure how his brother would react to this. Cecily still obviously was devoted to him.

"My favorite kind," Dean whispered. Sam smiled sadly at Dean's weak voice and the tears still unshed in his eyes.

How could anyone ever think he was a monster? Monsters don't go around saving lives just because they can. Monsters don't help other people with their problems and ignore their own. Monsters don't hold you're hand when you're scared or wake you up when you're having a nightmare. Monsters don't say everything will be all right and then do everything in their power to make sure that they are. Monsters don't sacrifice themselves for their brothers. Monsters are worshipped by four year old girls. Monsters aren't given all the love and admiration in the world in the form of a packet of grape gum. And monsters don't stare at that grape gum with tears in their eyes and disbelieving thoughts in their head and claim that it's their favorite. Monsters just don't do that.

Dean was a hero. He always had been and always would be. Maybe he wasn't Genie's hero. And maybe one day he wouldn't be Cecily's hero. But he would always and forever be Sam's hero.

And he'd buy him all the grape gum in the world if it meant Dean would finally realize that.

The End

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**To everyone who reviewed:**

Thank you all so much. The support for this story was phenomenal. I didn't expect it to get all those compliments. Sorry I haven't responded to you guys personally, but just know that I do read all the reviews and I do appreciate every single one of them. You guys are awesome and I hope you've enjoyed this story. :)


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